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Plays for Schools and Colleges 

AARON BOGGS, FRESHMAN 

By Walter Ben Hare. Comedy in 3 acts; 8 males, 8 
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AFTER THE GAME~ 

By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 2 acts; 1 male, 9 
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ALL A MISTAKE 

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ALL ON ACCOUNTOF POLLY 

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AS A WOMAN THINKETH 

By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Comedy in 3 acts; 9 males, 
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AT THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 14 fe- 
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CIVIL SERVICE 

By Walter Ben Hare. Drama in 3 acts; 6 males, 5 fe- 
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THE CLASS SHIP 

By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Commencement play- 
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CLUBBING A HUSBAND 

By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Comedy in 3 acts; 12 fe- 
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A COLLEGE TOWN 

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THE DEACON ENTANGLED 

By Harry Osborne. Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 4 fe- 
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THE FIFTEENTH OF JANUARY 

By Lindsey Barbee. Comedy in 3 acts; 11 males, 10 
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THE GRADUATE'S CHOICE 

By Edith F. A. U. Painton. Commencement playlet; 12 
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T. S. Denison & Company, Publishers * 

154 West Randolph Street CHICAGO 



RUTH IN A RUSH 

A Comedv in Three Acts 



BY 
LlNDSEY BARBEE 

AUTHOR OF 

"After the Game," "At the End of the Rainbow," 
" The Call of the Colors," " The Call of Wohelo," 
" The Dream that Came True," " The Fifteenth of 
January," " Then Greek Met Greek," " Her First 
Scoop," " The Kingdom of Heart's Content," " The 
Real Thing After All," "Sing a Song of Seniors," 
" The Spell of the Image," " The Thread of 
Destiny," " Tomorrow at Ten," " The Trial of 
Hearts," "A Watch, a Wallet and a Jack of 
Spades," " When the Clock Strikes Twelve," " The 
Whole Truth," "In the College Days," "Let's 
Pretend — A Book of Children's Plays," etc. 




CHICAGO 

T. S. DBNISON & COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

r \a\ 



RUTH IN A RUSH 






w^ 



NOTICE 

Production of this play is 
free to amateurs, but the sole 
professional rights are reserved 
by the author, who may be ad- 
dressed in care of the Publish- 
ers. Moving picture rights re- 
served. 



DEC -3 1919 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
LINDSEY BARBEE 



3CI.D 53-M5 



RUTH IN A RUSH 

FOR FIVE MEN AND SEVEN WOMEN 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 

{Named in order of appearance) 

Mrs. Brownell Ruth's Aunt 

Juliet Raymond .Ruth's Secretary and Friend 

Ruth Macdonald Moore Always in a Rush 

Susie A Maid 

Leonard Bruce Poor but Aristocratic 

Wayne Ashley Rich but Uncultured 

Dwight Lambert . . . . .An Eloper 

Peggy Patton Another Eloper 

Gilbert Lansing f A Writer 

Philip Grant. ..A Millionaire 

Sadie Sodastrom A Ticket Agent 

Jean Moore Foster Ruth's Sister 

Time — The Present. 

Place — An Eastern City. 
Time of Playing — Two Hours and Thirty Minutes. 

Act I — Room in Ruth Moore's residence. An 
August afternoon. 

Act II — Waiting room at Sunshine Junction. A 
few days later. 

Act III — The same. A few hours later. 

3 



RUTH IN A RUSH 



STORY OF THE PLAY 

Ruth Moore, a maid of manifold interests and of 
manifold dollars, finds herself avalanched not only by 
the aforesaid over-abundance but by a pair of persist- 
ent suitors. Physically weary, distracted by social de- 
mands, and eager to have some definite work and to be 
economically worth while, she contrives to obtain — un- 
der an assumed name — the position of secretary to 
Gilbert Lansing, a well-known editor and writer. For 
this arduous task Ruth has been trained by her own 
secretary, Juliet Raymond, who is a college mate and an 
intimate friend. The fact that Ruth has literary am- 
bitions, a fair amount of talent and has had a manu- 
script caustically criticized and rejected by this same 
Gilbert Lansing, makes her doubly eager to accept the 
position, since she hopes in this way to gain practical 
benefit from association — although he is represented 
as old, over-bearing and sarcastic. Meanwhile, an 
older married sister whose summer home is at no great 
distance and who is frankly desirous of finding an 
eligible parti for the capricious Ruth, bids the girls 
come for a visit in order to meet two friends of her 
husband, whom she does not name but who are repre- 
sented one as distinguished and the other as a million- 
aire. Ruth understands that once more Jean is setting 
the stage for a possible love story ; nevertheless she 
plans to go before she enters upon her new duties. 

At Sunshine Junction where the local train to Wil- 
lowdene connects with the city train, Ruth and Juliet 
meet Gilbert Lansing and Philip Grant, who have been 
motoring to Willowdene and who have been forced on 
account of lack of gasoline to wait for the local. Elim- 
inating conventionality, the four, without revealing 



RUTH IN A RUSH 



their names, become acquainted, enjoy a primitive aft- 
ernoon tea and are interrupted by Peggy Pat and 
Dwight who are eloping, pursued by an angry parent 
who telephones to the station in order to intercept the 
culprits. In an impulsive effort to help out, Ruth and 
Lansing assume the role of bride and groom ; and, under 
cover of this pretence, the real culprits escape, leaving 
their rescuers forcibly detained in the station. 

Identities are finally discovered, difficulties are 
straightened out, and Ruth becomes permanent secre- 
tary to the celebrity. 



SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM 

Act. I. Ruth in a rush — to obtain a secretary's 
position. However, she finds time to shock an am- 
bitious aunt, to accept a week-end invitation, to dismiss 
two persistent suitors and to advise a prospective bride 
and groom. 

Act. II. Ruth in a rush — for a train. However, 
fate decrees that she and Juliet share the waiting room 
with two fellow travelers, which results in a delightful 
confusion of identities, elopers and lunatics. 

Act. III. Ruth in a rush — for the border line. 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS 

Mrs. Brownelx — A middle-aged matron whose dig- 
nity of manner and modishness of dress marks her 
as a grande dame. 

Juliet — An attractive young woman of great poise 
and vivacity, whose pretty summer frock is the es- 
sence of daintiness. In Act II, she wears a tail 
ored suit and hat. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 



Ruth — A young woman of winsome personality and 
distinct individuality. Wears a fluffy summer 
gown in Act I. Tailored suit and hat in Act II. 

Susie — The coquettish type and is most attractive in 
her conventional black gown with its sheer white 
apron ; its white collar and cuffs and its dainty 
cap. 

Bruce — A rather pompous and important young man, 
who in his immaculate summer flannels, radiates 
conventionality and self-esteem. 

Ashley — Approaching middle age and wears a correct 
tailored business suit. But a closer inspection 
shows that his tie is a little too gaudy, his scarf- 
pin a wee bit blatant and his ring a trifle conspicu- 
ous. 

Lambert — Resplendent in white suit, shoes and pan- 
ama. The irresponsible, irrepressible college type 
in I. Attired in a light summer suit, long motor 
coat and motor cap in II. 

Peggy Pat — The sweetest kind of a maiden, attired in 
a dainty beruffled summer gown, crowned with a 
large flower-laden hat and carrying a distractingly 
gay parasol in I. Her dainty summer gown is be- 
draggled and a long dark coat has not wholly pro- 
tected her from the storm in II. 

Lansing — About 32. Hair at the temples is slightly 
touched with gray. Impresses one with a quiet 
dignity. Has a keen sense of humor coupled with 
an adaptability and a certain charm of manner 
which gives him a distinct personality. 

Grant — About 32. Is polished, a bit languid, a trifle 
bored and quite the cosmopolitan. 

Sadie — Business-like and of an inquisitive type. In 
her air and attire there is an imitation of city ways 
and city fashions. Her hair is in the approved 



RUTH IN A RUSH 



style. Her plain gingham gown is trim and neat 
and relieved by white collar and cuffs but her 
dangling ear-rings give an unexpected and rather 
outre finish to her appearance. 
Jean — Wears a long motor coat over an elaborate din- 
ner gown and is shrouded in a motor veil. Attrac- 
tive personality. Fashionable in the extreme. 



LIST OF PROPERTIES 

Act I 

Settee with cushions. 

Table with bookrack, books, lamp, vase and paper knife. 

Desk with electrolier, telephone, desk set and large en- 
velope. 

Desk chair. 

Typewriter stand and chair. 

Manuscript. 

Large chair and hassock. 

Portieres, window draperies, rugs, pictures, etc. 

Push button. 

Table, two chairs and awning for porch. 

Lorgnette for Mrs. Brownell. 

Book for Juliet. 

Basket of flowers for Ruth. 

Box of flowers, note, card tray, tray of lemonade and 
glasses, three letters and telegram for Susie. 

Parasol for Peggy Pat. 



Act II 

Two long seats or benches. 
Stove (flat top with lid). 
Box of kindling wood. 
Water cooler. 
Map and calendar. 



8 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Telephone bell and telegraph instrument off stage ; also 
train bell and whistle. 

Newspapers, suit case, cigarette, matches, small parcel 
of tea, lemon, cheese and watch for Grant. Suit 
case, money, newspapers, matches and knife for 
Lansing. 

Tickets, money, handcuffs for Sadie. 

Umbrella, traveling bag containing large tin box of 
marshmallows, paper drinking cups and magazines 
for Ruth. 

Traveling bag containing curling tongs ; wrist watch, 
small parcel of sugar, box of crackers and hand- 
kerchief for Juliet. 

Act III 

Handcuffs for Sadie. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 



SCENE PLOT 
Act I 



chairdOdchair 



/^DESK J ABLE 

^OCHAIR ^££ ^/TYPEWRITER 



WINDOW 



R r ^^3 CHAIRO/\^ "\ 
/ l-^QHASSOCK TABlW \ 



Acts II and III 




TICKET 
OFFICE 



SEAT 



WATER COOLERJ_ 

L 



STOVE O 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 

R. means right of stage; C, center; R. C, right cen- 
ter; L., left; 1 E., first entrance; U. E., upper en- 
trance ; R. S E. y right entrance, up stage ; D. F., door in 
flat, or scene running across the back of the stage, etc. ; 
up stage, away from footlights ; down stage, near foot- 
lights. The actor is supposed to be facing the audi- 
ence. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 

The First Act 

Scene: A bright, charming room in Ruth Moore's 
residence — just the sort of a room that possesses an 
atmosphere of its own. The few good pictures, the 
rugs, the books denote culture and refinement; and the 
wicker furniture with its gay chintz cushions gives tone 
and color. At C. in F. wide-flung French windows 
reveal a shady porch with green and white awning, on 
which is a small white wicker table with a chair on 
either side. Doors with chintz portieres dozvn R. and 
L. lead to the back and to the front of the house, respec- 
tively; and, left of the porch opening, is a small window 
with chintz draperies. Near this window is a stand 
with a typewriter — - and on the stand is a freshly 
typed manuscript. Right of the French window, placed 
across R. U. E., is a pretty desk with desk set, electro- 
lier, telephone and desk chair. Down R. is a long set- 
tee with cushions and hassock; and down L., a table 
whieh bears book rack, lamp, vase ami paper knife. 
Right of the table is a large and comfortable chair. 

The curtain rises upon Juliet curled up on the set- 
tee, reading, and Mrs. Bkownell, standing by type- 
writer, examining the manuscript. Juliet is an at- 
tractive young woman of great poise and vivacity, 
whose pretty summer frock is the essence of daintiness. 
Mrs. Bkownell is a middle-aged matron whose dignity 
of manner and modishness of dress marks her as a 
grande dame. A frequently-used lorgnette adds im- 
pressiveness to her bearing. 

' 11 



12 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Mrs. B. (sharply). Juliet? 

Juliet (closing her book). Yes, Mrs. Brownell. 

Mrs. B. What does Ruth mean by all this foolish- 
ness ? 

Juliet. I don't believe I understand. 

Mrs. B. Well — ypii know — and I know — that a 
typewriter does not belong in this room. 

Juliet (rising and crossing to Mrs. Brownell). 
It's here — just temporarily. Ruth was anxious to 
finish her manuscript and thought it cooler and pleas- 
anter to do the work-in this room. (Glances around.) 
It is pleasanter: 

Mrs. B. (tapping manuscript with lorgnette). What 
is the manuscript? 

Juliet. A charming little story destined to capti- 
vate the fancy of some editor. 

Mrs. B. Nonsense. It will come back just as fast 
as the others have come. (Throws manuscript upon 
stand.) 

Juliet. I'd rather believe that — this time — it will 
wing its way straight to the proper market. 

Mrs. B. (crossing to settee). Why does Ruth waste 
her time on this sort of thing? 

Juliet (following). Waste her time? 

Mrs. B. When she might be making the most of her 
opportunities? (Sits.) 

Juliet. Isn't that just what she is doing? (Sits 
on arm of chair, right of table.) 

Mrs. B. That depends upon what one calls oppor- 
tunities. With her fortune she might be a central 
figure in the social world, but instead of having a few 
jewels to merit comment — and a wardrobe of dashing 
costumes — and a few good-looking cars — 

Juliet (interrupting). She chooses to spend it on 



RUTH IN A RUSH 13 

books, pictures and travel. {Lightly.) Each one to 
her own taste, you know. 

Mrs. B. And you happen to have the same ridicu- 
lous ideas in regard to the use of money, Juliet. 
Sometimes I think you have influenced Ruth. 

Juliet (laughingly). It's very flattering to think 
that I'm as important as that — but, even if I am 
Ruth's best friend — her ideas are her own. 

Mrs. B. You evolved these theories when you were 
college girls together. 

Juliet. But then I had the right to evolve theories 
— for money wasn't an abstract thing to me. (Rises.) 
Now — I am merely Miss Moore's private secretary — 
and am not in a position to advise. (Stands back of 
chair. ) 

Mrs. B. Don't talk foolishness, Juliet. Your social 
status is quite the same. 

Juliet. With the right people — yes. 

Mrs. B. And you certainly have been of inestimable 
value to Ruth. 

Juliet. I hope I have. Otherwise, I should feel 
quite guilty over the generous check which rewards my 
services. 

Mrs. B. How could she have managed her ava- 
lanche of work without your assistance? 

Juliet. She couldn't. (Crosses to settee and sits 
at Mrs. Brownell's left.) 

Mrs. B. Or superintended the thousand and one 
charities in which she is interested? 

Juliet. Nobody can attempt the impossible — and 
put it over — without help. 

Mrs. B. Attempt the impossible! That describes 
Ruth's attitude towards things in general. 



14 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Juliet. I'm afraid it does. For if she has one fault 
in the world — it's being in a rush. 

Mrs. B. (sighing). Ruth in a rush! It grows very, 
very tiresome. 

Juliet. And very interesting. For you must ad- 
mit that the rush is in behalf of the best things. 

Mrs. B. I'm not so sure of that — for man seems 
to be eliminated from her program. 

Juliet. Why shouldn't he be? I said — the best 
things. 

Mrs. B. There you go, Juliet — maligning the op- 
posite sex ! 

Juliet. I'm not maligning. 

Mrs. B. It's the same thing. What's more, Ruth 
shares your views. 

Juliet. I share her views, you mean. Ruth's opin- 
ions are not colored by those of anybody else. 

Mrs. B. It's not natural for a girl to dislike men. 

Juliet. Ruth doesn't dislike men. 

Mrs. B. It's not politic to avoid them. 

Juliet. But she doesn't avoid them. 

Mrs. B. Then will you tell me why she assumes such 
an indifferent attitude? 

Juliet. She simply hasn't time for them — that's 
all. 

Mrs. B. A fine distinction ! 

Juliet. But a real one just the same. 

Mrs. B. Naturally, I have a keen responsibility in 
regard to Ruth's future — and I shall never feel satis- 
fied until she contracts a suitable marriage. 

Juliet. But she has plenty of time for — that. 

Mrs. B. I'm not so sure. Ruth isn't so young as 
she once was. 



RUTH [N A RUSH 15 

Juliet (laughingly). Hush! For I'm the same 
age, exactly. 

Mrs. B. Then it's high time that hoth of you were 
coming to your senses. 

Juliet (after a pause). Ruth can never abide by 
the same schedule which proved satisfactory for her 
sister. 

Mrs. B. Unfortunately. Jean was wholly docile 
and I had no trouble whatever in persuading her to make 
a proper bow to society and to marry the proper man. 
As Mrs. Foster she is just what she was destined to be 
— a popular young matron in a very exclusive set. 

Juliet (rising). But not a bit different from ten 
million other young matrons. 

Mrs. B. Why should she be different? 

Juliet. Don't you realize that Ruth isn't that type 
of a girl? (Crosses to table and places book in book- 
rack.) 

Mrs. B. At the present moment I realize nothing 
but the fact that she needs to settle down and find a 
husband. 

Juliet (turning and leaning upon table). Ruth will 
never settle down that way. And as to the husband — 
well, he'll be obliged to sweep her off her feet before she 
knows it — if he wishes to win her heart. 

Mrs. B. Nonsense ! Self respecting husbands don't 
do that sort of thing. 

Juliet. But Ruth's husband must be a wee bit dif- 
ferent. 

Mrs. B. Different? Who ever heard of a different 
husband! They're all alike — just as alike as two 
peas in a pod. 

Juliet. I don't believe it. 

Mrs. B. Then marry and find out. 



16 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Juliet. If every husband is like every other hus- 
band, why in the world should a girl want — every- 
body's husband? 

Mrs. B. I don't know why — but she does. 

Ruth enters from porch. She wears a fluffy summer 
gown, carries a basket of garden flowers, and impresses 
you at once as a young woman of winsome personality 
and distinct individuality. As the play goes on, you 
will note her keen sense of humor, her quickness, her 
independence and her lovableness. 

Juliet {emphatically). Well, Ms one doesn't — 
and she never has — and she never will ! 

Ruth (at porch door). Good gracious! What in- 
spired this Declaration of Independence? 

Juliet. It isn't a Declaration of . Independence. 
It's an Emancipation Proclamation. 

Ruth. Emancipation — from what? 

Juliet (meeting her at C). Husbands! 

Ruth (reprovingly). Aunt Jessica, you've been at 
it again. (Comes to back of settee as telephone rings). 
Won't you place these in the vase for. me? (Goes to 
desk and seats herself. Mrs. Brownell crosses to ta- 
ble, arranges flowers in vase and, later on, gives basket 
to Susie to carry out.) 

Enter Susie from L. with box of flowers and note. 
She is of the coquettish type and is jnost attractive in 
her conventional black gown with its sheer white apron, 
its white collar and cuffs and its dainty cap. 

Susie (at C). Flowers, Miss Ruth. 
Ruth (indifferently). Lay them down, Susie. 
(Susie lays box on table.) 

Susie. But there's a note — 



RUTH IN A RUSH 17 



Ruth. Lay that down, too. 

Susie. And the messenger is waiting for an answer. 
(Lays note on table.) 

Ruth (taking up the receiver). Oh, bother! (To 
Juliet.) Open' the note, Jule. (Into telephone.) 
Yes? This is Miss Moore. Yes, Mr. Ashley. I rec- 
ognize your voice. (Placing hand over receiver as 
Juliet opens note.) Leonard Bruce I suppose? 

Juliet (glancing over note). Yes. He wants to 
call this afternoon. 

Ruth (into telephone). What is that? Oh, I rec- 
ognize anybody's voice — it's quite a gift. (To Su- 
sie.) Send word that I shall expect him. 

Juliet. Oh, Ruth — how horrid to answer verbally. 
(To Susie.) Wait — I'll write a note. (Crosses to 
desk. ) 

Ruth (into telephone). Pardon me — I didn't get 
your last sentence. Yes, I'll be home all afternoon. 
Oh, any time. Very well. Goodbye. (Slams receiver 
on hook.) There! (Rises and crosses to C. Juliet 
immediately seats herself at desk and begins to write.) 

Mrs. B. (taking box from table). Shall I open the 
box? 

Ruth. Please don't. The sight of another orchid 
would prove my undoing. 

Mrs. B. But you don't know that they're orchids. 

Ruth. Oh, but I do know. They've been orchids 
every time — and the man couldn't think up a new 
flower if he tried. 

Mrs. B. (severely). Almost any girl would be flat- 
tered by his choice. An orchid is surely the most culti- 
vated product of the conservatory — 

Ruth. And thrives upon hot air. Well, so does he. 



18 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Juliet (rising and coming to C). Here's the note 
for the messenger, Susie. 

Susie (as she takes the note). Yes, Miss Juliet. 
(Starts to go.) 

Ruth. And Susie? 

Susie. Yes, Miss Ruth. 

Ruth. Do jou happen to be attending anything of 
a social nature tonight? 

Susie. A dance, Miss Ruth. 

Ruth. Then orchids will be the very thing. (Takes 
box from Mrs. B. and thrusts it into Susie's hands.) 

Susie. Oh, Miss Ruth — I can't — 

Ruth. You must — 

Susie. But — '- 

Ruth. If your lover has already sent you flowers, 
present this corsage effect to the chaperon. It will 
make a hit. (As Susie protests.) Not a word — 
(pushes her) — hurry. (Exit Susie at L.) 

Mrs. B. That's hardly fair to Mr. Bruce, Ruth. 
(Sits right of table.) 

Ruth. He'll never know. (Sits on left arm of set- 
tee.) 

Juliet (leaning over back of settee). Oh, won't 
he? Why, he'll look for those flowers the very first 
thing. 

Ruth. Not when he can look at me, my dear. 

Mrs. B. (eagerly). Ruth — do you mean that — 

Ruth. Don't get excited, Aunt Jessica. I mean 
that Leonard Bruce has eyes only for the dollar sign — 
and that's what I am to him — a nice, animated dollar 
sign. 

Mrs. B. You're not kind, Ruth. His family tra- 
ditions — 



RUTH IN A RUSH 19 



Ruth (interrupting). I'm not fond enough of fam- 
ily traditions to give them financial backing. 

Juliet. Then why encourage him by allowing liim 
to call this afternoon? 

Ruth. That, Juliet- is my own deep* dark secret. 

Mrs. B. (pettishly). Ruth! I won't permit you to 
make that man the victim of any practical joke. 

Ruth. There's safety in numbers. You forget 
that I've just asked Wayne Ashley to join the party. 

Juliet. Well, surely he isn't after your money. 

Ruth. Hardly. His bank account is even more 
substantial than my own. 

Mrs. B. Then in what respect is he lacking? 

Ruth. Family traditions — and social position. 

Juliet. And he expects you to supply both? 

Ruth. Exactly. Naturally, I resent the job of 
Universal Supply Depot. 

Mrs. B. You're too ridiculously particular, Ruth. 
This attitude will never get you anywhere. 

Ruth. By anywhere meaning — matrimony? 

Mrs. B. Well, yes. Matrimony. 

Ruth (airily). Matrimony, my dear aunt, is only a 
sub-station in my main line of travel. And I haven't 
time even to stop off. 

Mrs. B. Not everybody can arrange the train 
schedule. 

Ruth. Well, not everybody is in such a rush as I. 

Mrs. B. Fortunately, t 

Ruth. Perhaps so. But you see, auntie dear, I'm 
not so interested in the traveling as in the arriving. 
(Rises and crosses to typewriter.) 

Mrs. B. Arriving? 

Ruth (waving manuscript). Have you seen this? 



20 RUTH IX A RUSH 

Mrs. B. (turning head). Oh, that's what you mean ! 
Well, even a rush won't insure a literary arrival. 

Ruth. Have you looked — carefully — at this? 

Mrs. B. Why should I? It's probably just like a 
score of others. 

Ruth. But, Aunt Jessica — the typing! (Leans 
over back of Mrs. Brownell'j chair.) 

Mrs. B. (glancing carelessly at manuscript). Oh — 
the typing is good enough. 

Ruth. Good enough! It's perfect — and I did it 
all by myself. 

Mrs. B. (impatiently). Why do you spend your 
time at the typewriter — 

Ruth. When Jule can do it for me? Simply be- 
cause I do it just as well as Jule. 

Juliet. Better. 

Ruth. Modesty forbade me to say that, of course. 

Juliet. You see, Mrs. Brownell, I've been teaching 
Ruth all I know — and the pupil has outstripped the 
teacher. 

Ruth (gaily). You should just watch me take 
Jule's dictation ! And as to typing — positively, I've 
reached the speed limit. 

Mrs. B. But what good will it do you? And why 
do you waste your time when — 

Ruth. I might be doing social stunts? (Hesi- 
tates.) 

Mrs. B. Well? 

Ruth. Because — now, auntie, I warn you — 
you're in for a shock — 

Mrs. B. (coldly). Go on. 

Ruth. Because I am fitting myself for somebody's 
secretary. 

Mrs. B. (after a pause). I don't believe I under- 



RUTTT IN A RUSH 21 

stood you, Ruth. In fact, I'm quite sure I didn't un- 
derstand you. 

Ruth. Oh, yes, you did, Aunt Jessica. 

Mrs. B. Somebody's secretary! 

Ruth. Exactly. (Sits on arm of Mrs. Brow- 
nell's chair.) 

Mrs. B. It's preposterous ! 

Ruth. It's fun. I'm going to be like real people — 
I intend to have my chance — and what's more, I'm de- 
termined to make a success of it. 

Mrs. B. You're crazy — downright crazy. 

Ruth. Oh, no, I'm not. On the contrary, I've just 
come to my senses. 

Mrs. B. I've been exceedingly patient with you, 
Ruth, and you've been very trying in many ways. But 
this is too much — and you shall not do it ! 

Ruth. Too late, auntie. I've already applied for a 
position. 

Mrs. B. (with an effort). Who — is — the — man? 

Ruth. You sound just like the ghost in Hamlet. 

Mrs. B. Don't evade my question. 

Ruth. I'm not evading it — for I don't know the 
man as yet. You see, I haven't quite landed my job. 

Mrs. B. (shuddering). Don't express yourself in 
that ordinary way. (Pauses.) To whom have you 
applied? 

Ruth. To Gilbert Lansing. 

Mrs. B. And who is Gilbert Lansing? 

Ruth. Auntie, if you weren't so funny I'd lecture 
you severely upon your ignorance. Not to know Gil- 
bert Lansing argues yourself unknown. 

Mrs. B. I never heard of him. 

Ruth. Then don't tell it to anybodv else. He is 



22 RUTH IN A RUSH 



the author of the great book of the year — and he is 
also editor of the Pacific Weekly. 

Mrs. B. Disgusting ! 

Ruth. To be editor of the Pacific Weekly? Oh, 
auntie ! 

Mrs. B. To imagine that a big man could possibly 
need your services ! (Juliet crosses back to settee and 
seats herself down stage on hassock.) 

Ruth. Oh, I'm wonderfully recommended. Jule 
saw to that. 

Mrs. B. And how do you know he wants a secre- 
tary ? 

Ruth. Jule has a friend who is a go-between. 

Mrs. B. (abruptly). Is he young? 

Ruth. Who — the friend? He's a she. 

Mrs. B. You know who I mean. This Gilbert Lan- 
sing. 

Ruth. We've heard that he is old — and sarcastic 
— and very disagreeable. 

Mrs. B. Then why on earth should you want to go 
to him? 

Ruth. Auntie, you're so trying! One moment you 
are afraid that he is young — and the next you are 
cross because he isn't ! 

Mrs. B. Why did you choose — him? 

Ruth. Because he is a literary light — and any as- 
sociation with a literary light must necessarily be of 
great benefit to me in my work. 

Mrs. B. (scornfully). Do you think you can write? 

Ruth. I intend to try. (Rises and walks to back 
of settee.) 

Mrs. B. Where does this — creature — live? 

Ruth. In Kensington. So I won't he far away. 
Juliet and I have already selected our apartment. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 23 

Mrs. B. Juliet? 

Ruth. Of course. She is to help me out in my dual 
personality. 

Mrs. B. What do you mean? 

Ruth. That to my future employer I shall be only 
Ruth MacDonald, the model secretary — not Ruth 
Moore, the dollar sign. 

Mrs. B. It is a comfort to know that there will be 
some disguise. {Suddenly.) But, of course, there's 
the chance that he won't want you. 

Ruth. Then somebody else will. For I'm pledged 
to a life of usefulness. (Coaxingly.) Come now, Aunt 
Jessica, be a sport and wish me luck. 

Mrs. B. I'll wish you nothing of the sort. You're 
a great trial, Ruth - — a great disappointment — and 
from this time on, I shail not interest myself in your 
career. (Rises and crosses to back of stage.) You 
have splendid opportunities — you choose to ignore 
them — so, watch out. On your main line of travel, as 
you are pleased to call it, there may be such a thing as 
— a wreck! (Flounces angrily out at L.) „ 

Ruth (after a pause). Dear me! Even my feeble 
intelligence grasps the fact that she is — provoked. 

Juliet. Why shouldn't she be? She had made 
other plans for you — and you are a bit irritating at 
times, Ruth. 

Ruth. Et tu, Brute! (Sits right of table.) 

Juliet. She had visions of you as a social success. 

Ruth. But I'll be some other kind of a success. 

Juliet. You don't know that you will. 

Ruth. And some day my name will be — oh, just a 
little famous ! 

Juliet. Don't be too sure. 



24 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. And all my loving family will be pretty glad 
that I was not checked in my chosen career. 

Juliet. You're imagining things. 

Ruth. Cassandra is your middle name, isn't it? 
(Holds up the manuscript.) Well — what do you 
think of it? 

Juliet. It's the best thing you've done, — just be- 
cause it's human. 

Ruth. What do you mean by — human? 

Juliet. Well — for one thing — what happened to 
your heroine might have happened to any one of us ; 
and we in turn might have talked and thought and acted 
just as she did. 

Ruth (eagerly). Yes? 

Juliet. And you've taken everyday people and 
everyday events and everyday feelings — things that 
we all appreciate. Of course I don't know the tech- 
nique of writing, Ruth, but it seems to me that one's 
power lies in perfect understanding of one's subject. 

Ruth. That's what Gilbert Lansing says. 
(Calmly.) I hate that man. 

Juliet. You have no right to hate him. 

Ruth. Oh, haven t I? Didn't I meekly ask him for 
a little note of criticism when I submitted my manu- 
script — and didn't he respond with a perfect volley 
of horrid, sarcastic remarks about my characters and 
my style and my philosophy? 

Juliet. You asked him for criticism, didn't you? 

Ruth. But I didn't expect it. 

Juliet. Not many editors would have taken the time 
and the trouble for a personal note. You should be 
grateful for the distinction. 

Ruth. But I don't see everything from his view- 
point ? 



RUTH IN A RUSH 25 



Juliet. Just what is his viewpoint? 

Ruth. Wait — I'll get the letter. {Runs to desk 
and returns with large envelope.) First, he maligns 
my heroine. (Takes letter from envelope and sits on 
settee.) 

Juliet. If I remember correctly, she was a bit 
queer — not exactly in our set. (Rises and sits by 
Ruth.) 

Ruth. Listen. (Reads.) Leona is unequalled — 
not only in literature but in real life. Not on land and 
not on sea could one find her prototype. You have suc- 
ceeded in perpetrating a character who, psychologically 
and otherwise, defies every trait attributed to charming 
femininity. (Puts down letter.) Now, what do you 
call that? 

Juliet. I call it howlingly funny. 

Ruth. I call it — impudent. Again — (reads). 
Don't describe your heroine as a mystery to every 
woman. My dear young lady — now, Jule, how did he 
know that when I signed a man's name — John Chester 
— to the story ? 
. Juliet (laughing). Give it up. 

Ruth (continuing the letter). My dear young lady, 
don't you know that a woman may be a mystery to a 
man but never to another woman? (Puts down letter.) 
Horrid old man — I don't suppose he knows one thing 
about the opposite sex. 

Juliet. Did your hero escape? 

Ruth. Escape?. With a noose around his neck. 
Listen to this. (Reads.) Give Horace some distin- 
guishing characteristic. As you have delineated him, 
he might be a United States senator, a patent medicine 
barker or the floor walker at some department store. 



26 RUTH IN A RUSH 



(Angrily.) As I said before, Juliet, I hate Gilbert 
Lansing. 

Juliet. Anything else? 

Ruth. Anything else? The fabric of my manu- 
script is but a torn and tattered thing. Give ear to 
this advice concerning my villain. (Heads.) Don't 
restore Hugo's wife at the sacrifice of his fortune. The 
average man would rather lose a dozen wives than a 
dozen dollars. (Puts down letter.) Juliet, that man 
has been disappointed in love — he's a woman hater. 

Juliet. He's delicious. 

Ruth. And this (continuing to read). Don't let 
the mother spout maxims and apothegms to the maid. 
The servant problem is bad enough as it is. (Sarcas- 
tically.) That's a feeble attempt to be funny. 

Juliet. There's nothing feeble about that man, 
Ruth. 

Ruth. And in regard to my ending — Jule, you re- 
member my ending, don't you? Tragic, gruesome, and 
the heroine plunging from a precipice into the dashing 
waves? Well — hear the censor — (Reads.) The 
average reader doesn't care what happens to the hero, 
and the heroine just so long as they are clasped in each 
other's arms when the story ends. In popular litera- 
ture only villains die — and unfortunate husbands 
whose wives are in love with other men. Otherwise, it's 
hard upon digestion. 

Juliet. I think he rather enjoyed writing that 
criticism, Ruth. 

Ruth. Oh, do you? Well, I didn't enjoy reading 
it. Just wait until I get a chance at him. 

Juliet. You may not have the opportunity. Re- 
member that he hasn't engaged you — yet — 

Ruth. But if he does — 



RUTH IN A RUSH 27 

Juliet. You must also remember that he is an old 
man — and be accordingly deferential. 

Enter Susie from L. 

Susie (crossing to Ruth). The mail, Miss Ruth. 

Ruth (as she takes letters from tray). Thank you, 
Susie. (As Susie turns.) And Susie — 

Susie. Yes, Miss Ruth? 

Ruth. Bring some lemonade to the porch table. 
We expect callers later on. (Exit Susie at K.) Two 
letters for you, Jule — (hands them to her) and one for 
me, postmarked Willowdene. (Crosses to table, takes 
her paper knife and returns to former position. ) 

Juliet. Jean chose a pretty station name for her 
summer home. 

Ruth (slitting the envelope). Willowdene is a 
pretty name — and a pretty place — but it is fright- 
fully inconvenient. (Gives knife to Juliet.) 

Juliet. Why so? (Opens her letters.) 

Ruth. The roads for motoring are bad — and any- 
way it's too far. Then if you go by train, there's a 
ridiculous little station where you wait hours in order 
to connect with a local. And half the time the local is 
late — so there's no definite schedule to rely upon. 

Juliet. That does make a difference. (Glances at 
her letters.) 

Ruth (as she opens her letter). The usual brief 
epistle, I see. Jean is always so busy with maids and 
babies and sewing and house-parties that she hasn't 
time to send a real letter to her family. Always in a 
rush. 

Juliet. Well — you're always in a rush. 

Ruth. But mine is a different sort of rush. To fol- 



28 RUTH IN A RUSH 

low the mechanism of Jean's domestic machinery is like 
watching a three-ringed circus. 

Juliet. She probably thinks your routine just as 
nerve racking. 

Ruth. Doubtless. (Silence for a few moments as 
each reads her mail. ) I knew it ! 

Juliet. Knew what? 

Ruth. That the stage is once more being set for a 
love scene. I'm invited — nay, commanded — to spend 
next week end — or as much longer as I'll stay — at 
Willowdene. 

Juliet. Nothing strange about that. 

Ruth. But there are two other guests — friends of 
my respected brother-in-law — and this is where the 
plot thickens. No names are given — - but one is her- 
alded as distinguished — and the other as fascinating 
- — and a millionaire ! 

Juliet. Are you to kill two birds with one stone? 

Ruth. That's too much for my family to expect. 
They're doubtless hoping that if one fails to be hypno- 
tized by my charms, the other will capitulate. Why is 
it, Jule, that my doting relatives are so anxious to 
marry me off? 

Juliet. What does it say about the millionaire? 

Ruth (referring to letter). Fascinating — oh, I 
told you that — clever — very traveled — and — (joy- 
fully) — Hooray, hooray — you're invited, too! 

Juliet (dropping her letters). How perfectly 
splendid ! 

Ruth. Now it will be real fun! (Jumps up and 
pulls Juliet from settee.) I hand over to you, forth- 
with, all the chances I might have with the millionaire. 
(Swijigs her around.) 

Juliet (as they reseat themselves on settee). A 



RUTH IN A RUSH 29 

millionaire sounds good to me. When do we start? 

Ruth. Friday next — if I'm not summoned before 
then by my new employer. In such a contingency — 
you go alone. 

Juliet. Indeed I don't. But — don't worry — 
for Mr. Lansing is not apt to want you before then. 

Ruth. I hope not. (Sighs.) The question is — 
will he want me at all? 

Juliet. He has applied for a secretary — and my 
friend whose establishment is very reliable has enthusi- 
astically endorsed you. So you ought to get it. 

Enter Susie from R. with tray of lemonade and 
glasses which she places on porch table, then comes to C. 

Susie. Excuse me, Miss Ruth, but Mr. Bruce is 
coming up the driveway. 

Ruth. Good gracious — I'd forgotten all about 
Mr. Bruce. I'll see him here, Susie. 

Susie. Yes, Miss Ruth. (Exit at L.) 

Ruth. In the midst of all this excitement I've for- 
gotten to reveal to you my method of attack upon the 
approaching victim. Just follow my cues and you'll 
be all right. 

Juliet (rising). But — Ruth — 

Ruth. Agree to everything I say — and when I 
raise my handkerchief to my eyes ■ — so — it's your sig- 
nal to depart. 

Enter Susie at L., followed by Leonard Bruce, a 
rather pompous and important young man who, in his 
immaculate summer flannels, radiates conventionality 
and self-esteem. 

Susie. Mr. Bruce. (Exit at L.) 

Ruth (meeting him at L.^ivith both hands out- 



30 RUTH IN A RUSH 

stretched). How splendid of you to arrive just when 
you're most needed. 

Bruce (as, with Ruth, he crosses to Juliet at C). 
That's the very finest welcome a fellow could have. 
(Greets Juliet.) But how can I possibly be of use to 
you ? 

Ruth. You'll soon find out. (Hushes him to chair 
right of table.) There — sit down — and Juliet and I 
will take the settee. (Sits at left end of settee.) 

Juliet. Not until I bring Mr. Bruce some lemon- 
ade. (Goes to porch where she slowly fills a glass with 
lemonade. ) 

Bruce (leaning forward and whispering). Ruth — 
ever since last night — 

Ruth. Yes — last night — 

Bruce. I've been hoping that you will give me my 
answer this afternoon. 

Ruth. You shall have your answer this afternoon. 

Brick. Will it be — the right one? 

Ruth (softly). I think — it will. (Sentimen- 
tally.) It's very wonderful that some one like you 
should care for — me. 

Bruce (consciously). Oh, don't put it that way! 

Ruth. Why not? 

Bruce. Because there may be lots of other men — 
just like me. 

Ruth. Impossible. (Sighs.) And then — your 
family ! 

Bruce (arrogantly). Came over in the Mayflower. 

Ruth (as Juliet approaches). History can't be 
trusted a bit — can it ? We're taught that compar- 
atively few took passage on that sacred boat — and 
posterity has proved that thousands thronged the decks. 

Bruce (suspiciously). What do you mean by that? 



RUTH IN A RUSH 31 

Juliet. Nothing at all. Ruth is hardly herself to- 
day. 

(Bruce rises as he takes the proffered glass.) 

Bruce (significantly). I wonder why. {Flourishes 
glass.) To your health — each of you! 

Ruth (gloomily). We need it. It's been a most 
trying day — hasn't it, Jule? 

Juliet (crossing back to settee and seating herself 
by Ruth) . Oh — very ! 

Bruce (as he resumes his chair). Now what could 
happen to make it trying? Perhaps a new gown didn't 
fit. 

Ruth. Worse than that. 

Bruce (settling back in the chair and lazily sipping 
the lemonade). Or did somebody beat you to the best 
looking hat in the window? 

Ruth (after a pause). Haven't you heard, Mr. 
Bruce, that in the midst of life we are in death? 

Bruce. Good gracious ! I hope that nothing has 
happened, that — 

Ruth. Oh, no — nothing like that. What I me;int 
to add was that — in the midst of riches we are in 
poverty. 

Bruce (slowly straightening). I don't understand. 

Ruth. Of course you couldn't — but — well — to- 
day came a dreadful letter informing me that — ( turns ) 
Jule, you tell him what was in the letter. 

Juliet (tactfully) . Don't you think it's better for 
you to break the news? 

Ruth. Perhaps so. (Touches her eyes with her 
handkerchief) . 

Juliet (hastily). Then I'll leave you — for a littl • 
while. (Rises, crosses back of settee to Bruce and 



32 RUTH IN A RUSH 

whispers. ) Be very gentle with her — for her nerves 
are all unstrung. {Exit through porch, to right.) 

Ruth. This letter, Mr. Bruce — or I may call you 
Leonard now — may I not? 

Bruce {nervously). Yes — of course. Go on. 

Ruth. Well, this letter brought the fearful news 
that my fortune has been swept away — (pauses) — 
quite away. 

Bruce. There — there must be some mistake. 
( With shaking hand he places the unfinished glass of 
lemonade upon the table.) 

Ruth. Oh, I wish it were — but it's quite true — 
and instead of being a dollar sign I'm only — a zero. 

Bruce. Great heavens! (Pauses.) Perhaps it's 
only a passing flurry in the market — such things often 
happen, you know. 

Ruth. The letter gives me no hope of anything 
transitory. 

Bruce. And it represents all your fortune? 

Ruth. Quite all. (After a moment.) Now do 
you see why you came just at the right time? 

Bruce (in confusion). No — I confess I don't. 

Ruth. Why, Leonard — don't you understand that 
I'm giving you your answer — and that it is the answer 
you — want ? 

Bruce (miserably). But — wait — 

Ruth. And that now I don't dread the future since 
I have — you — to take care of me? 

Bruce. I'm a poor man, Ruth. 

Ruth. But I don't mind poverty a bit — and I'd so 
much rather have it with you — than by myself. 

Bruce. I can't give you the things to which you've 
been accustomed. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 33 



Ruth. Could you have done — that — last night 
when you asked me to marry you? 

Bruce. No — but — 

Ruth (quietly). I had the money. I see. 

Bruce. You don't see — you — why, hang it all, 
Ruth, you wouldn't be happy with me — don't you un- 
derstand ? 

Ruth. I understand. For you've just insinuated 
that you could marry me with a fortune — but not 
without. 

Bruce. That's not what I mean. But, nowadays, 
conditions are different — living expenses are higher — 

Ruth. And my money could have helped out. I'm 
sorry to disappoint you. 

Bruce. And I'm sorry to disappoint you — I know 
it must hurt. 

Ruth (in surprise). Disappoint me? (As his 
meaning dawns upon her.) Disappoint me! (Hides 
her head in cushions to conceal her mirth.) 

Bruce (rising). Oh, say now — don't take it like 
that — you'll find somebody else, maybe, just like me — 

Ruth (emerging). Never! (Fervently.) Oh, 
never! (Hides her face again.) 

Bruce. And you'll get over it in time —(awkwardly 
patting her shoulder) — you'll even see that it was for 
the best, (Nervously.) Good-bye! 

Ruth (emerging). But it isn't good-bye. You'll 
hear from me, tomorrow. 

Bruce (wildly). It isn't necessary to go all over it 
again, is it? 

Ruth (rising). Only by telephone — so — tomor- 
row — when I ring you up, remember — as you said — 
that it's all for the best. (Touches button left of 
French xvindow.) Won't you finish your lemonade? 



34 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Bruce {confusedly). Not this afternoon — I mean 
not now — I — really I must be going — {desperately) 
— I don't quite understand you I'm afraid. 

Ruth. No — I'm afraid you don't. 

Enter Susie from L. 

Ruth. Susie, show Mr. Bruce to the door. {Holds 
out hand to Bruce. ) Goodbye — and better luck next 
time. (Bruce hesitates, attempts to speak, hesitates 
again — and then follows Susie from the room. Ruth 
leans against the wall and laughs to herself. Calls to 
Juliet.) "Come out of the garden, Jule — For the 
black bat has flown." 

Juliet {appearing on porch). I'm not in the gar- 
den — and I've been eavesdropping. What do you 
mean, you Ananias, Sapphira and disgrace to George 
Washington, by telling such awful, whopping big un- 
truths? 

Ruth. 'Twas my own little way of discovering a 
dishonest man — and it worked beautifully. {Seats 
herself at left of porch table. ) Come — drink to the 
success of the stratagem! {Pours out lemonade.) 

Juliet (as she sits opposite Ruth). You may call 
it a stratagem but I call it — a lie. 

Ruth (passing her the glass of lemonade) . Well — 
as the lady in the play said — better to lie a little than 
be unhappy much. 

Juliet. But how will you explain all this story? 

Ruth. Easily. Call him up tomorrow — tell him 
that a telegram has informed me that the letter was a 
mistake — and that my bank account is still intact. 

Juliet. And then? 

Ruth. He'll call again. But — this time — I 
won't be at home. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 35 

Juliet. You won't feel so complacent when he tells 
around that you are madly in love with him — and that 
he doesn't reciprocate. 

Ruth. I don't believe that he'll tell it — for he was 
a bit suspicious at the last. But — even with that blot 
upon my 'scutcheon, immortality is cheap at such a 
price. 

Juliet. You're becoming a trine mixed in your 
rhetoric. 

Ruth. Who wouldn't? Oh, Jule, if you could have 
seen the poor, conceited creature patting my shoulder 
and offering consolation for the loss of himself ! 

Juliet. It was dreadful of you to laugh. 

Ruth. And he thought I was crying! Jule, I be- 
lieve I am destined to be an actress. 

Juliet. Don't feel too encouraged — your efforts 
may not succeed with the next victim. For Wayne Ash- 
ley isn't after your money. 

Ruth. But he's after a key to social position and he 
thinks I can supply it. 

Juliet. You can. 

Ruth. But I won't. And by the time I engage in 
a few nights of verbal fancy he won't want me. 

Juliet. What kind of a man is he? 

Ruth. Dreadfully anxious to do the proper thing, 
don't you know — and disgustingly fond of show. He 
will expect his wife to conform to the same standards. 

Enter Susie at L. 

Susie (advancing to porch). Mr. Ashley is in the 
drawing room. 

Ruth. Show him here, Susie. (Exit Susie at L.) 
Suitors are crowding thick and fast. You might emu- 



36 RUTH IN A RUSH 

late the old ladies in the French Revolution, Jule, and 
count the heads as they fall. 

Juliet. Is that all the use you have for me? 

Ruth (rising). That's all. (Laughingly.) Un- 
less you care to — listen. 

Juliet disappears off R. as Wayne Ashley enters 
preceded by Susie. He is a man approaching middle 
age, and wears a correctly tailored business suit. But 
a closer inspection shows that his tie is a little too 
gaudy, his scarf pin a wee bit blatant, and his ring a 
trifle conspicuous. 

Susie. Mr. Ashley. (Exit at L.) 

Ruth (advancing to meet him). Delighted to see 
you, Mr. Ashley. Sit right there in the big chair while 
I pour you some lemonade. (Crosses to porch.) 

Ashley (sitting right of table). That's ripping of 
you. Say, I ought to apologize for coming here in 
these clothes. 

Ruth (turning her head). What's the matter with 
your clothes? 

Ashley. Not quite the proper ticket for calling — - 
are they? 

Ruth. We don't bother about such trifles in this 
house. 

Ashley. Trifles? When Miss Moore has the repu- 
tation of wearing the most correct clothes in town. 

Ruth (conmig to him). Oh, you don't know the 
real me, the unconventional me — the me who is strug- 
gling for self expression. (Hands him the lemonade 
and seats herself on the settee.) 

Ashley (as he sips the lemonade). This certainly 
goes to the spot. It's a hot day. 



RUTH IX A RUSH 



Ruth. Thermometer performing all sorts of antics, 
isn't it? 

Ashley. Rather. But I don't let weather interfere 
with business — ever. 

Ruth. That's the proper spirit. 

Ashley. So I came right along this afternoon be- 
cause I had a question to ask you. (Leans forward.) 
Say, you're looking great. 

Ruth (complacently). It m a pretty dress. 

Ashley. I didn't mean that. 

Ruth. Flatterer ! 

Ashley. And I'd like to see just such a woman as 
you behind my coffee urn ! 

Ruth. Shouldn't you think that the lady behind the 
coffee urn and the man behind the beefsteak would get 
very tired of looking at each other three hundred and 
sixty-five days in succession? 

Ashley. Not if you happened to be the lady. 

Ruth. Oh, let's not mention beefsteak and coffee on 
an August afternoon! Tell me, instead, just what 
you've been doing today. 

Ashley (boastingly) . Well — for one thing — I've 
cleaned up a little deal that netted me four figures ; then 
I've bought me a new roadster — thirty-five hundred 
cash — just room for two, by the way; and I've got 
the option on the best looking house on the Avenue. I 
tell you, Miss Moore, my wife can buy anything she 
wants. 

Ruth. Generous man ! 

Ashley. Of course that doesn't mean much to you 
for you've always had anything you've happened to 
want — and have been free to do whatever struck your 
fancy. 

Ruth. Oh, no, I haven't! A man may do just as 



38 RUTH IN A RUSH 

he wishes — always — but a woman is never a free 
agent until after she is married. 

Ashley. How do you make that out? 

Ruth. Well — until she is really settled, any girl 
feels obliged to abide by the conventional routine of 
everyday life. But — afterwards — {pauses). 

Ashley. Afterwards — what? 

Ruth. You just wait until I'm a married woman — 
and I'll show you. For I shall be very different from 
what I am — now. 

Ashley. You're kidding me ! 

Ruth. Oh, no, I'm not. 

Ashley. You couldn't be anything but pretty, well- 
dressed and entertaining. 

Ruth. Oh, couldn't I? You won't believe me when 
I say that I've always wanted plain dark clothes — and 
low-heeled, wide shoes with rubber in the sides — and 
bobbed hair, real bobbed hair, that one doesn't have to 
keep in order. And a hat — a nice, flat little hat with 
a rubber under the chin. 

Ashley. That's hardly the rig for social affairs. 

Ruth. Oh, I'll be through with society by that 
time — it bores me anyway. And I'll have my own 
crowd of literary lights — and musicians — and artists 
— and queer people who have brains. 

Ashley {placing his unfinished glass of lemonade 
upon the table). You surely don't mean all this. 

Ruth. Don't I? As I said before — wait and see. 

Ashley. Suppose your husband objects. 

Ruth. I'll never rest until I convert him to my way 
of thinking. 

Ashley {rising). I must be going — {as she pro- 
tests) really. {Looks at watch.) I'd clean forgotten 
a business appointment. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 39 

Ruth (rising). But the question you were to ask 
me ! 

Ashley. That'll keep. (Moves to door.) 

Ruth (following him). Oh, I hate to have your 
visit interrupted. Can't you come again? 

Ashley. Leaving town tomorrow. 

Ruth. Let me ring for Susie. 

Ashley. Don't bother — can find my own way out. 
(At L.) Good-bye, Miss Moore — had a pleasant aft- 
ernoon — and (seizing her hand hastily) I'll see you 
later. (Exit at L.) 

Ruth (calling). Did you hear the head fall? 

Enter Juliet from porch 

Juliet. I heard enough to make me wonder how the 
Recording Angel has found time today for anybody 
but you. 

Ruth. I managed it pretty cleverly, didn't I? 
(Sits right of table.) 

Juliet. You were — unspeakable. Why did you 
represent yourself as such a monstrosity? (Perches 
upon left arm of settee.) 

Ruth. Great, wasn't it? The more I said, the 
more alluring it all seemed; in fact, I don't know but 
what I have convinced myself. (Extending foot and 
looking at it thoughtfully.) I'd love the rubber-sided 
shoes. 

Juliet. Disgusting ! 

Ruth. And the rubber under the chin ! 

Juliet. And why on earth did you advance such a 
ridiculous philosophy? 

Ruth. Philosophy? If I advanced any philoso- 
phy, I did it unintentionally, and I apologize. Explain 
yourself, 



40 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Juliet. You said that a woman's freedom began 
after her marriage — when you know, down in your 
heart, that her bondage dates from that time. 

Ruth. Oh, that sentiment was merely rhetorical ef- 
fort — and if it happened to turn into a philosophical 
subtlety he didri't grasp it. So — why worry? 

Juliet. I don't. Except over the fact that you 
have voluntarily and arbitrarily eliminated two suit- 
ors. 

Ruth. That's what I planned to do — and it is a 
great satisfaction to achieve what one plans. (Re- 
laxes.) But it has been something of a strain — and I 
hope that, never again, do I lay eyes on a man! 

At this moment, Dwight Lambert appears on the 
porch, resplendent in white suit and shoes and carry- 
ing a Panama. He is of the irresponsible, irrepressible 
college type — and his winning smile gains your favor 
even before he has spoken. 

Lambert (coming to French window). Hello, you 
people. (Looks around.) Is she here? 

Juliet. Why are you snooping around our garden, 
Dwight Lambert? 

Ruth. And who is the mysterious she? 

Lambert. That's a pretty question to ask a fellow 
who is to be married a week from today. 

Juliet. In stories, the mysterious she always ap- 
pears at the eleventh hour. (Sits on settee.) 

Lambert. Not in this case. There's never been 
anybody but Peggy Pat since the perambulator stage. 

Ruth. Which isn't so very long ago. (Points to 
hassock.) Come here, baby boy, and tell us all about 
it. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 41 

Lambert (drawing hassock near Ruth and seating 
himself). You see, I'm to meet her here. 

Ruth. And I'm delighted to furnish the rendez- 
vous.- But would you mind telling me why I furnish it? 

Lambert. Why? Because I can't possibly see her 
at her own home. 

Ruth. Again, ignorance prompts me to say — - why 
not? 

Juliet. Good gracious, Ruth! Surely you don't 
expect a girl to have time for her fiance on the eve of 
the great event. 

Lambert. Wait until your own wedding and you'll 
find out for* yourself. 

Ruth. But I won't have a wedding — for I intend 
to elope. 

Lambert. Elope! That's a bully plan. 

Ruth. The bulliest plan in the matrimonial calen- 
dar. For — instead of the usual fuss and feathers — 
and the everlasting interference of the world at large — 
an elopement requires only the two most concerned. 

Lambert. Gosh! Why didn't we think of it. 

Ruth. Too late, now. You and Peggy Pat are ad- 
vertised as having the showiest wedding of the season, 
aren't you? 

Lambert (gloomily). It looks like it. 

Juliet. With more entertainments to the bride's 
credit than ever before recorded. 

Lambert. She's sick of them, too ; and, what's more, 
she's dead tired. 

Ruth. Of course she is. So I revert to my original 
argument — why not elope? 

Lambert. Why didn't you tell us sooner? 

Ruth. Isn't that just like a man? Blaming a 
woman for what he, himself, should have thought of. 



42 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Lambert. Getting married is an awful job, isn't it? 
I thought that all there was to it was — well, just get- 
ting married — but — heavens — - it's everybody's busi- 
ness. 

Ruth. Exactly. Why did you agree to all these 
ridiculous preliminaries ? 

Lambert. I should have agreed to anything in or- 
der to get Peggy Pat. Do you blame me? 

Ruth. I don't blame either of you — you're the 
victims of convention. 

Lambert. It's been a funny sort of engagement — 
not a bit like a real engagement. Every time I've seen 
Peggy Pat, we've been interrupted — and now, I'm for- 
bidden the house. 

Ruth. Too many dressmakers I suppose. 

Lambert. And no time to waste on the bridegroom. 

Juliet. Poor Dwight ! You're like the proverbial 
needle hidden in a mass of wedding finery ! 

Lambert. So you see — I am forced to meet her 
at other people's houses — and, sometimes, even then 
I can't see her alone. 

Ruth. Well, you can, here. There's a distracting 
little arbor in the garden, obligingly screened in — and 
later on, we'll send you some lemonade. 

Lambert (looking at the two glasses on table). 
What's the matter with the lemonade? Your preced- 
ing guests didn't seem to relish it. 

Ruth. My preceding guests were laboring under 
the stress of great emotion. (Rises and draws him up 
from hassock.) Now hurry out to your trysting place 
— and as soon as Peggy Pat arrives, I'll restore her 
to your arms. 

Lambert. You're a brick — and the two of you 
have pepped me up a lot. I don't mind telling you 



RUTH IN A RUSH 43 

now — that, a while ago, I felt as if I'd like to chuck 
it all. 

Ruth. D wight! 

Lambert (as he makes Ids way to porch). But I'm 
all right now. (Turns.) And I'll stick it out. 

Ruth. Good boy ! Next time you marry, suppose 
you plan to elope ! 

Lambert (grinning). You bet I will. (Disappears 
right of porch.) 

Ruth. I hate to see a wholesale robbery of the 
nursery. (Leans back over settee.) Dwight should 
be in college. 

Juliet. What's the difference? He would marry 
Peggy Pat sometime — so he might as well do it now 
and settle down. They can grow up together. 

Ruth. Ridiculous custom, this killing of the fatted 
calf for matrimonial victims. 

Juliet. I could stand the fatted calf better than 
the unsolicited advice. 

Ruth. I couldn't stand any of it — so, again I say 
— let's elope, Jule ! 

Juliet. Agreed. Heaven send us the opportunity ! 

At tliis moment, a vision appears at L.— or to be 
more exact — blows in. The vision resolves itself into 
the sweetest kind of a maiden, attired in a dainty be- 
ruffled summer gown, crowned with a large, flower- 
laden hat and carrying a distractingly gay parasol. 
The vision — or Peggy Pat. 

Peggy Pat (gazes wildly about her and then gasps 
feebly) Is he here? 

Ruth (going to meet her). Of course he's here, 
waiting for you in the arbor. Will you go right oirt or 
stay here a moment to rest? 



44 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Peggy Pat. I'll rest a moment — for I'm dreadfully 
tired — and I've hurried — hurried — hurried — ever 
since morning. I didn't even stop to ring your bell. 

Ruth (leading her back of settee). Why should 
you? Take a long breath and sit here quietly between 
us till you get your bearings. (As she takes off Peggy 
Pat's hat). Good gracious, child — what have you 
been doing to yourself — and where's your color? 
(Peggy Pat sits between Ruth and Juliet on settee.) 

Peggy Pat. In the nice little box that you buy at 
the druggist's. That's the only kind I have nowadays. 
(Pauses.) It's the hot weather I suppo'se. 

Ruth. Nothing of the kind, — it's the mad whirl of 
silly parties. How many more of them? 

Peggy Pat. Only a few — but they're big ones and 
I'll be just as tired. 

Ruth. Why did vou want all this fuss and feath- 



ers 



Peggy Pat. I didn't — but I was so glad to get 
Dwight that I would have agreed to anything. It wa< 
all mother's idea. (Plaintively.) I don't believe I 
have a single idea of my own left. 

Juliet. Couldn't you refuse some of the invita- 
tions ? 

Peggy Pat. Not when I have eight bridesmaids — 
and a mob of relatives — and a lot of old family friends 
all wanting to be nice to me. I just can't hurt people's 
feelings. 

Ruth. But you can ruin your nerves. What kind 
of a bride will Dwight claim, next week, if this con- 
tinues? 

Peggy Pat. He won't claim any — for — oh, Ruth 
■ — -I just can't go through with it all — and I came 
here today — to tell him so. (Weeps.) 



RUTH IN A RUSH 45 

Ruth. To — tell — him — that — you — won't 
— marry — him? (Peggy Pat nods violently.) Are 
you going to allow a few parties to turn you into such 
a hysterical goose? 

Peggy Pat. Oh, I could live through the parties — 
but it's the things that people say — 

Ruth (sharply). What things? 

Peggy Pat (sobbing). That marriage is very 
solemn — and a great responsibility — and 'that you 
run the risk of not being suited to each other. 

Ruth (shaking her violently). Now listen to me, 
Peggy Pat — and stop all this nonsense. Marriage is 
solemn — and a responsibility — but a great many 
people have been willing to take the risk, haven't they? 

Peggy Pat (meekly). Yes — 

Ruth. Then you can be pretty sure that it's all 
right. And if I hear any more of this ridiculous talk, 
I'll believe that you're tired of Dwight — and don't 
care a rap for him. 

Peggy Pat (indignantly). Tired of Dwight? I'll 
never — never — never marry any other man ! 

Ruth (putting Peggy Pat's hat on her head). Then 
go right out in the garden and tell him so — and when 
that overworked wedding march breaks forth next 
Wednesday night — show him what a bully little pal is 
coming his way. 

Peggy Pat (smiling). I will — oh, I will — And I 
feel so much better about it all. 

Ruth. You and Dwight should have planned an 
elopement. Then you could have escaped all this 
agony. 

Peggy Pat. An elopement — how perfectly grand! 
Oh, I wish we'd thought of it! (Sighs.) But mother 
would never have allowed it. 



46 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. Mother need not have known. 

Peggy Pat. She knows everything — why, she even 
found out I was coming here this afternoon — and she 
didn't like it a bit. (Rises.) Ruth — if she tele- 
phones — don't tell her that Dwight is here. 

Ruth (rising). Trust me. 

Peggy Pat. Of course, I don't want you to tell an 
untruth for me — 

Ruth. I don't mind it a bit. In fact, recent prac- 
tice has enabled me to do so quite unconsciously. 

Peggy Pat. Then I'll run right out to Dwight — 
and — oh Ruth — (grasps her hands) — thank you so 
much. (Hastens to porch and then turns.) Wouldn't 
it have been — heavenly — to elope? (Runs off right 
of porch.) 

Juliet (rising and crossing to table). Now you've 
done it. 

Ruth. Done what? 

Juliet. Suggested an elopement. (Takes glasses 
from table and crosses to porch table.) 

Ruth. Fiddlesticks ! I simply outlined what might 
have been. 

Juliet (as site places glasses on porch table). Just 
the same, you wouldn't feel very proud of yourself if 
those infants decided to follow your advice. 

Ruth (coming to C.) . I'm not worried about that. 
Peggy Pat is not apt to cut loose from the maternal 
apron string at this late hour — and as to Dwight — 
you heard him say that he would stick it out. 

Juliet (joining Ruth at C). But they haven't 
talked it over — together — yet. 

Enter Susie at L. 

Susie. Telegram for Miss Juliet. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 47 

Juliet (m surprise). For me? (Takes telegram.) 

Susie. I signed for it. 

Juliet (as she opens it). Thank von, Susie. 
(Exit Susie at L.) What can it be? (Comes slowly 
down stage as she reads.) 

Ruth (following to back of settee). No bad news, 
Jule? 

Juliet. Hardly. It is from the agency. 

Ruth (excitedly). What does it say? 

Juliet. Listen. (Reads.) Lansing asks that 
MacDonald report September first at Kensington. 

Ruth (bewildered). You mean — 

Juliet (laughing). That you are Gilbert. Lansing's 
secretary, my -dear! 



Curtain 



RUTH IN A RUSH 



The Second Act 

Scene : To the sound of wind, rain and thunder, 
the curtain rises upon the waiting room of a little 
country station. A long, wooden seat — or built-in 
bench — extends along the back wall, save for an en- 
closed space at the upper right hand corner, which 
has an unseen outside entrance and serves as a ticket 
office, bearing the word tickets in glaring letters, over 
its closed window. A large map and a heavy-typed 
calendar hang on the wall above the seat, and down L. 
is an old-fashioned water cooler. Another wooden seat 
runs along the right of the room and at L. % a forlorn 
stove, i?i company with a box of kindling wood, keeps 
vigil. The outside entrance is down L. and the door 
opens toward the audience. 

The stage is clear for a few moments, and then quite 
suddenly the door opens and Gilbert Lansing, followed 
by Phieip Grant — both carrying suit-cases — enter. 
Over their dark serge suits they wear long rain coats, 
which together with their motor caps are dripping wet. 
Lansing, a man of about thirty-two, whose hair at the 
temples is slightly touched with gray, impresses one 
with a quiet dignity which quickly disappears when the 
situation demands the change. This keen sense of 
humor, coupled with an adaptability and a certain 
charm of manner, gives him a distinct personality. 
Grant — of about the same age — is polished, a bit 
languid, a trifle bored and quite the cosmopolita?i — - but 
natural and simple when his interest is aroused. 

48 



RUTH IN A RUSH 49 

Lansing (crossing to H.). Something of a steady 
downpour, isn't it, Phil? And rather different from 
the passing summer shower you predicted. (Shoves his 
suit-case under the bench.) Well — since Fate decreed 
that gasoline should go back on us, 'twas thoughtful of 
the old lady to inflict the catastrophe where we could 
have shelter. 

Grant (placing his suit-case under seat at back of 
stage). I might as well confess that I'm not only a 
poor weather prophet but a wretched judge of roads. 
I never dreamed that we should get into any such mud 
hole as this beastly place. (Sits and lights a cigarette.) 

Lansing (looking around). Well, this isn't so 
beastly. 

Grant. It's hardly — inspiring. Though I pre- 
sume that every commonplace has its charm for a 
writer — and I've no doubt that the great Gilbert Lan- 
sing can evolve local color even from this atmosphere. 

Lansing. Don't be sarcastic, Phil. 

Grant. I'm not sarcastic - — I'm merely a hero- 
worshipper. Inarticulate admiration doubtless ac- 
counts for my steering you into all these rural ruts. 

Lansing (as he sits on seat down R. and throws off 
his cap). Don't you know the topography of your 
country estate any better than this? 

Grant. Until today I've never happened to drive in 
this particular direction. My usual route is a per- 
fectly respectable macadam highway. 

Lansing. How much farther is Willowdene? 

Grant. Far enough to check our mad career unless 
the sun comes out and a beneficent providence sends us 
gasoline. 

Lansing. At what time does the connecting train 
reach this metropolis? 



50 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Grant. When the spirit moves, I fancy. (Looks 
at watch.) Past three o'clock now — and I imagine 
that whatever it does, it will do pretty soon. 

Lansing. We are expected for dinner, aren't we? 

Grant. We are. But if unforeseen contingencies 
arise, why worry? 

Lansing. I'm not worrying. And as you know 
week-end parties have no fascination for me. 
(Pauses.) Why has Foster evinced this sudden inter- 
est in us? 

Grant. Same class at Yale — desire to renew old 
fellowship, etc. Wasn't that the dope? 

Lansing. But our particular class graduated ten 
vears ago and I haven't noticed his hunting us up dur- 
ing the ten years. 

Grant. Neither have I. 

Lansing. And what's more, he never paid us any 
special attention when we were at college together. 

Grant. Too much of a snob — and at that time, 
we were both working our way through Yale, you re- 
member. 

Lansing (after a pause). Well, I may be stupid — 
but, even upon reflection, I am not able to fathom his 
motive in honoring us with the invitation. 

Grant. You are stupid in some ways, Gil. Doesn't 
your feeble intelligence grasp the fact that since our 
college days, you have become a celebrity and I have 
inherited my blasted money? 

Lansing! I'm not such a celebrity that I affect the 
social register. 

Grant. That's all you know about it. 

Lansing. And I don't like to hear you cuss your 
money. It's done a lot for you. 

Grant. In the way of travel — education — and 



RUTH IX A RUSH 51 



world knowledge. But it's blasted my ambition. 

Lansing. Oh, no — it hasn't — 

Grant. I'm not the same fellow I was ten years 
ago, Gil. You know that. 

Lansing. Neither am I. As we grow older, it's in- 
evitable that we lose some of the youthful ardor. 

Grant. But I've had things made too easy for me. 
I haven't felt the necessity of work, and without an 
impetus, one doesn't arrive. 

Lansing. Then find the impetus. 

Grant. I wish I could. 

.Lansing. Try — marrying. 

Grant. Marrying? What's struck you? 

Lansing. An inspiration, perhaps. A nice girl 
would give you a very different viewpoint. 

Grant. All of which reminds me — {pauses). 

Lansing. Of what? 

Grant. Of another reason for our being asked to 
the Willowdene estate. Mrs. Foster has a sister. 

Lansing. Well — what of it? 

Grant. An unmarried sister. 

Lansing (puzzled). Still I don't understand. 

Grant. You are an idiot. Try to realize that each 
one of us is an eligible. 

Lansing. Great heavens ! I won't go. 

Grant. The girl is an heiress. 

Lansing. What's that to me? 

Grant. A moment ago you were rhapsodizing over 
the attractions and the advantages of my filthy lucre. 

Lansing. That's different. 

Grant. Theoretically. If my money has meant so 
much to me, why shouldn't the lady's inheritance hu- 
manize kerf 



52 RUTH IX A RUSH 

Lansing {yawning). The matter isn't worth an ar- 
gument. (After- a pause.) What is her name? 

Grant. Moore. And I have never laid eyes on 
her. 

Lansing. That doesn't keep you from knowing just 
what she is, does it? Traveled, sophisticated, exceed- 
ingly bored — and critically examining every victim 
on the matrimonial bargain table. 

Grant. You speak feelingly of the species. 

Lansing. I feel feelingly. For the girl who will 
sometime adorn the other side of my fireplace will be 
a jolly, companionable sort of a creature — not an arti- 
ficial fashion plate. 

Grant. Already picked out the girl? 

Lansing. No, I haven't already picked out the girl. 
At present, I feel as if I never wanted to see her. 

Grant. The literary temperament again ! Better 
hurry up and find her, Gil, for with those gray temples 
you'll soon be taken for a crotchety old man. 

Lansing. That is just what has already happened. 
Did you read the Tribune's description of me? 

Grant. Haven't had the pleasure. 

Lansing. " Old, sarcastic and disagreeable " — it 
ran, after the usual necessary tribute to my prowess 
in the world of letters. 

Grant. What ailed the interviewer? 

Lansing. A bit of temper, I fancy. I was not in 
the mood to discuss her thousand and one topics, so — 
metaphorically — she seized my gray hair. 

Grant. And added two score to your age. I don't 
blame her. (Rises.) Let's go into the fresh air — 
this place gets on my nerves. Anyway, I must find a 
better refuge for the car. 

Lansing (rising and taking liis cap). Anything 



RUTH IN A RUSH 53 

suits me. (As they pass out.) Suppose we organize 
a hunt for inhabitants. 

The stage is clear for several moments during which 
one hears a locomotive, a bell and a whistle. As the 
whistle dies away, Ruth and Juliet enter, both strug- 
gling with a refractory umbrella and carrying traveling 
bags. They wear long, loose rain coats over their 
tailored suits and the umbrella has slightly tilted their 
small, modish, tailored hats. 

Juliet. I never saw such a place. Nobody on the 
platform to help with baggage - — and not a soul in 
sight. (Goes to back of stage and throws her bag on 
seat.) 

Ruth. Oh, yes there is, Jule. A man 'way at the 
other end of the station, working witli a car. I saw 
him. (Stands at C. and shakes umbrella.) 

Juliet. One naturally expects somebody to be on 
hand at a station — to answer questions, if nothing 
else. 

Ruth (placing umbrella at R.). But this is Sun- 
shine Junction, my dear, and it doesn't happen to have 
the facilities of the Grand Central. (Seats herself at 
R., and throws off her rain coat.) 

Juliet. Has it any facilities? 

Ruth (cheerfully). I don't think so. Only a few 
people live here as it's only a connecting station — so it 
doesn't need the extras. 

Juliet. You talk as if you really liked it. 

Ruth. I do. I like anything that's out of the 
ordinary — and simple — and primitive. (Suddenly.) 
I like even this kind of weather. 

Juliet. Ruth! 

Ruth. And I'm so proud to think that I'm the one 



U RUTH IN A RUSH 

who insisted upon our taking rain coats and umbrellas 
in case of emergency. We ran into the emergency 
all right. (As she looks at her slightly muddied shoe.) 
But I did forget the rubbers ! 

Juliet (scornfully). Rubbers! I don't own a pair! 

Ruth. Well, when I purchase my nice, wide, low- 
heeled shoes, I intend to have some big roomy arctics 
to go with them. Sit down, Jule, and make yourself at 
home. 

Juliet (sitting at back of stage). How long must 
we wait here? 

Ruth. Ask me about the square of the fourth dimen- 
sion or the formula for perpetual motion — but don't 
force me to follow the eccentric schedule of the Sunshine 
Junction train. 

Juliet. Can't we find out about it? 

Ruth (gazing around). Walls have ears — but no- 
body has ever endowed them with tongues. 

Juliet. Isn't there any one to answer questions? 

Ruth. Perhaps the man outside. 

Juliet (glancing at ticket window). Or to sell 
tickets ? 

Ruth. Why sell tickets when there's nobody to buy 
them ? 

Juliet. But how do they know that we don't need 
them ? 

Ruth. And whom do you mean by that rather 
vague they? 

Juliet. The ticket agent, of course. 

Ruth. Then you're ungrammatical. You should 
have said he — or she — or it. Honest to goodness, 
Jule, I don't know a thing about the place save that it's 
a connecting link. 

Juliet. Or a missing link, if the local fails us. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 55 



Ruth. Exactly. Your sense of humor is still with 
you, dear old thing, so I guess you're safe. 

Juliet (after a pause). I'm ashamed to say it — 
but I loathe inconveniences. 

Ruth. All the more reason that you should marry 
that millionaire. 

Juliet. What about you? 

Ruth. I am already planning a snare for the one 
who is heralded as distinguished. Now a millionaire 
may fall to the lot of any one — but a distinguished 
husband is the gift of the gods. 

Juliet (looking at her watch). It's four o'clock. 

Ruth. Then our friend, the local, should be with us 
in about half an hour. Mind you, I say should not will. 

Juliet. Is it always late? 

Ruth. Remember that only once have I tested its 
efficiency — for this is Jean's first summer in her new 
home. On that occasion it behaved itself in a seemly 
fashion — save that it stopped at every haystack. 

Juliet. That's encouraging, if we are to arrive for 
dinner. 

Ruth. We're expected. Well — be thankful that 
our trunks went on ahead of time. It won't take long 
to jump into our dinner clothes. 

Juliet (rising). Well — I intend to investigate a 
bit. Maybe I can find out the whereabouts of the 
train. 

Ruth. Ask the man with the car. 
Juliet. I will. (Exit.) 

(Ruth, left to herself, walks slowly about the room 
investigating each crack and corner, and humming a 
gay little tune. She examines the map, looks into the 
store, and finally shores her traveling bag under the 



56 RUTH IN A RUSH 

seat at R. As she does so, she naturally notices Lan- 
sing's suit case, hi great excitement and surprise, she 
draws it out, kneels by it and looks for some mark of 
ownership.) 

Ruth. Oh-h-h ! The island is inhabited! {Turns 
suit case around.) Why doesn't he leave his name and 
address in some conspicuous place? (The door behind 
her opens; thinking it is Juliet, she does not turn but 
continues her investigations.) What do you think, 
Jule? Somebody is sharing our exile — a mysterious 
somebody — a somebody we didn't expect. I feel just 
like Robinson Crusoe! (As there is 710 answer, her 
voice dies away — and she rises and turns to behold — ) 

Lansing standing by the door. 

Lansing (removing his cap, smiling and bowing). 
The ubiquitous and adaptable Friday at your service ! 

Ruth (pointing to suit case). Does this happen to 
be yours? 

Lansing. It does. I'm sorry to disappoint you by 
not being the mysterious somebody you invoked. I'm 
hopelesshy commonplace. 

Rutfi. And I'm hopelessly humiliated. I feel ex- 
actly as if you had caught me picking your pocket. 

Lansing. Just because you examined an unexpected 
suit case? Nonsense. If your traveling bag had 
stood in my way, I should have done the same. 

Ruth. You see, it was thrilling to come across it — 
for I had just about persuaded myself that nothing 
human existed in this place. 

Lansing. A thorough search on my part has re- 
sulted in the discovery of two depot appendages — one, 



RUTH IN A RUSH 57 

a baggage man, though heaven knows what he finds to 
do — and the other, a hanger-on. 

Ruth. Oh, dear — it's beginning to sound metro- 
politan. 

Lansing. Isn't it? Then there is my friend — 

Ruth {eagerly). The man with the car? 

Lansing. Exactly. The usual story of capricious 
gasoline, and besides, a bit of engine trouble. 

Ruth. Then my friend is probably interviewing 
him. (Starts to push the suit case under the seat.) 
I'll restore your property to its abiding place. 

Lansing. Oh, let me do it — please — and I'll dis- 
pose of yours at the same time. 

As they both lean over the suit case and the bag, the 
window to the ticket office flies open and a sharp voice 
cries " Tickets! " Startled, the two spring apart and 
Ruth crosses to door and goes out, leaving the door a 
bit ajar and listening from the other side. Lansing 
places both bags under the seat, then strolls leisurely to 
the window where Sadie Sodastrom is regarding him 
with the greatest interest. 

Sadie Sodastrom is of a business-like and inquisitive 
type, and in her air and attire there is an imitation of 
city ways and city fashions. Her hair is in the ap- 
proved style, her plain gingham gown is trim and neat 
and relieved by white collar and cuffs, but her dangling 
ear-rings give an unexpected and, rather outre -finish to 
her appearance. 

Sadie (repeating). Tickets? 

Lansing (pushing money through window). To 
Willowdene. 

Sadie. Two, of course. 



58 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Lansing (absent-mindedly). Two. (The door 
closes softly.) 

Sadie (as she hands back the tickets and the change). 
Some day, isn't it? 

Lansing. Rather. Sunshine Junction isn't living 
up to its name. (Places tickets and money in pocket.) 

Sadie. Oh, well — in that case, I reckon we can use 
the old city gag and tell strangers that it's very unusual 
weather for this time of year. 

Lansing. Are you the ticket agent? 

Sadie. Sure. And on the side lines, I listen to the 
telegraph machine, am first aid to the baggage man, 
pretend I'm depot agent and even keep a pair of hand- 
cuffs for the times when I have to play sheriff. 

Lansing. Sheriff? Surely nothing ever happens in 
this peaceful community of Sunshine Junction ! 

Sadie. Oh, Sunshine Junction is all right — there 
ain't enough of us to scare up any spirit — but some 
tough customers stroll in. I had a tussle with an 
escaped convict once upon a time. 

Lansing. You had a tussle? 

Sadie. Sure. I was the only one here when he blew 
in, so it was up to me to get him. 

Lansing. Great heavens, girl — what did you do ? 

Sadie. Got him into this cubb} r hole, locked the door 
back here (motions), and then stood outside the window 
there, yelling until help came. 

Lansing. But he might have killed you. 

Sadie. Oh, don't you think it. I had a pistol and 
he didn't — so it don't sound so much like a hold-up 
after all. 

Lansing. It sounds risky enough to hope that all 
the other excitements are of a different kind. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 59 

Sadie. Well, rather. Elopements are right in our 
line. 

Lansing. Elopements? 

Sadie. Sure. We're near the state line — and 
right across is where they all go. {Suspiciously.) 
You don't happen to be eloping yourself, do you? 

Lansing. Not this time. 

Sadie. Seeing the young lady, you know — 

Lansing. It isn't always wise to trust to circum- 
stantial evidence. 

Sadie. And if you hadn't bought those tickets to 
Willowdene, I'd a-thought you might be the man we're 
expecting. 

Lansing. Hope I haven't disappointed you. 

Sadie. No disappointment about it. For the man 
happens to be on his way to the lunatic asylum in the 
city. 

Lansing. What? 

Sadie. Oh, he ain't crazy — but he's taking a 
young girl who is. And we're half way expecting them 
here in time for the night train to the city — they come 
from up country. 

Lansing. Has the girl - — quite lost her mind? 

Sadie. It's been gone ever since her lover was killed 
— poor little voung thing, too, they say. Sad, ain't 
it? 

Lansing. Yes, sad indeed. 

Sadie. I hope she ain't violent — for I don't want 
to be made to use force. 

Lansing. It seems to me that with all your talents, 
you're capable of a bigger job, Miss — Miss — (in- 
quiringly) Miss — 

Sadie (promptly). Sodastrom — Sadie Sodastrom. 
Sounds like a drink or medicine, don't it? 



60 RUTH IN A RUSJT 

Lansing. It sounds — alliterative. 

Sadie. What's that? 

Lansing. Something that appeals to me. You see, 
I'm a writer. 

Sadie. You don't say so ! I've always wanted to 
see a real writer. (After a critical inspection.) You 
look like anybody else. 

Lansing. Thanks. 

Sadie. It's a job that don't pay very well, ain't it? 

Lansing. That depends. 

Sadie. You see — ( the telegraph instrument 
sounds) — gracious, there's a message. (Disappears. 
The sound continues for a few moments and Sadie re- 
turns to window.) Say, you're going to have some 
wait. That there frisky local ain't intending to show 
up until six — and land knows if it'll get here then. 
There's been a wash-out on the road. 

Lansing. So we're surely stranded! Well, there 
seems to be local color. 

Sadie. Color? I don't see how you can spot any 
color on a messy day like this! (Suddenly.) Say? 

Lansing. Yes? 

Sadie. If that there instrument clicks — or if any- 
body wants me — you'll find me in the first house across 
the road. I've got a cake in the oven and I've also got 
a feeling that it's waiting to be taken out. 

Lansing. Run along, then. I'll keep store. 

Sadie. There won't be anything to do. I'm just 
mentioning all this in case that there should be. 

Lansing. Count on me. 

Sadie. So-long, then. (Disappears.) 

Lansing leans against the window, laughing, as 
Grant opens the door in great excitement. 

Grant. There are signs of life. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 61 

Lansing. Decidedly. And I've just learned that 
the local won't be in until six. So go back and talk to 
her. 

Grant. How do you know that I've been talking 
to any one? 

Lansing. Because I've been scraping an acquaint- 
ance with the other one. So — with utter oblivion as 
to the weather — let us make hay while the sun shines. 

Grant. Perhaps you won't be so enthusiastic when 
you hear that they're both on their way to Willowdene. 

Lansing. What? 

Grant. Yes, they are. They're probably — very 
probably — members of the same house party — and 
it stands to reason that one of them is the heiress. 

Lansing. How did you find out all this? 

Grant. I was working on the car when some one 
said very softly — " Can you tell me if the train to Wil- 
lowdene is on time?" I looked up — and there she 
stood ! 

L»ansing. Judging from your expression, you didn't 
mind looking at her. 

Grant. I guess not. Gil, for an heiress, she is cer- 
tainly — one — big — peach ! 

Lansing. How do you know she's the heiress? 

Grant. I don't know it, of course — but some way, 
I feel that she's the one. There's something indefinably 
cultivated — and aloof — and princessy — about her. 

L»ansing. She doesn't sound good to me. 

Grant. Just wait until you meet her. She's fasci- 
nating — (sighs) — even if she is an heiress. 

Lansing. Well, the friendly, pleasant and compan- 
ionable girl / met can't be any such atrocity. 

Grant (absent-mindedly) . Isn't it hard luck that 
she should have all that money? 



62 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Lansing. Hard luck? 

Grant. I don't want any girl who has a lot of 
money. 

Lansing (laughing). So it's gone that far, has it? 

Grant (coming to himself). Go to thunder. 

Lansing. I am. Also to the rain and the lightning. 
Those girls probably want to get out of the storm — 
and are waiting for us to give them the chance. (Starts 
toward door.) 

Grant. Wait a moment. Do you suppose that 
they know that we are in this house party? 

Lansing. They probably have heard that there are 
to be other guests. But as to us — well, they don't 
even know where we're going. I bought the tickets a 
few moments ago — and nobody was around. 

Grant. Just the same — suppose we don't tell our 
names. There's no use in it. 

Lansing. ' Just as you say. Come along. (Ex- 
eunt.) 

In just a few moments Ruth and Juliet enter. 

Juliet (slamming the door). That man must think 
I pursue him. Every time he emerges I'm at his heels. 

Ruth (crossing to R.) Nonsense. You weren't at 
his heels, and, anyway, every traveler has a right to 
the waiting room. Come over here and sit down. 

Juliet (as they seat themselves) . They seem to be 
gentlemen, so let's be thankful for that. And they will 
probably be leaving us at any moment. 

Ruth. Oh, no they won't ! 

Juliet. Why not? 

Ruth. In the first place, their gasoline is out ; in 
the second place, I heard my friend ask for two tickets 
to Wilkwdene. (Throws off her rain coat.) 



RUTH IN A RUSH 63 

Juliet. To Willowdene! 

Ruth. That very place. 

Juliet. Ruth — do you suppose — oh, could it 
be — 

Ruth. The millionaire and the distinguished un- 
known? I don't doubt it. 

Juliet. Well, my man isn't the millionaire — that's 
certain. Anybody who can regulate his own car — and 
who is so absolutely natural and simple in his man- 
ner — cant be a plutocrat. 

Ruth. Well, his friend is just as natural and sim- 
ple — and I'm just as sure that he isn't the plutocrat. 
So what are we going to do about it? 

Juliet {laughing). Eliminate the millionaire. 
Anyway, these may be two guests of whom we haven't 
heard. 

Ruth. Oh, no, they're not — for Jean is having 
only the four of us. She's probably informed them of 
our charms — but, still, they have no reason to suspect 
that we are the other guests. 

Juliet. Oh, haven't they? I asked the man with 
the car all about the train to Willowdene — so it won't 
take long for the two of them to reach certain con- 
clusions. 

Ruth. But they don't know that we know that 
they're on their way to Willowdene. You see — I lis- 
tened outside the door — while he was buying his 
tickets. 

Juliet. Oh, it's getting horribly mixed! Nobody 
knows who the other person is ! 

Ruth. And nobody cares. We'll let it remain hor- 
ribly mixed — and under no circumstances are we to 
give our names. If we must be designated — let it be 
Ruth and Juliet. That won't mean anything. 



64 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Juliet. Aren't we taking a great deal for granted 
— and being a little premature in our plans ? The 
gentlemen may not care to take advantage of the situa- 
tion — and we may not see them again until we get to 
our destination. 

Ruth. " By the pricking of my thumbs " — I think 
they will. (As the door slowly opens.) What did I 
tell you? (Draws out her bag and opens it.) Get a 
magazine — and try to look perfectly unconcerned. 
(Each takes a magazine from the bag, and again Ruth 
shoves it under the seat.) 

Lansing and Grant enter, looking a tripe conscious 
and apologetic. They seat themselves at the back of 
the room, throw off their caps, produce their newspap- 
ers and try to appear engrossed in current topics. 
With much subdued chattering, the girls settle down to 
their reading and an enforced silence ensues, broken 
only by an occasional frenzied rustling of papers, and 
varied only by the numerous intercepted glances. 

Ruth (in a whisper). Jule, they haven't read a 
word — I've watched them. 

.Tuuiet (also in a whisper). Well — neither have 
we. 

(The awkwardness of the situation increases, and 
finally Lansing, in exasperation, throws down his pa- 
per, rises, and walks to front of stage, where he turns 
and addresses the girls.) 

Lansing. Conventions are absurd and hampering 
things. Here we are, four bored mortals, stranded of 
necessity in the same station and the same room for two 
long hours. 

Ruth (gasping). Oh — is the train that late? 



RUTH IN A RUSH 65 

Lansing. IUs that late. Now, don't you think it 
would be ridiculous for us to ignore each other when 
the obviously sensible thing to do is to get acquainted 
and have a pleasant wait of it? 

Ruth. Why, of course, it's the sensible tiling to do. 
Why have you been so long in suggesting it? 

Juliet. Especially, when each of us has indulged in 
a preliminary conversation with each of you? 

Grant (rising and joiriing Lansing). My dear 
young lady — (as Juliet smiles) — Now, what's funny 
about that? 

Juliet. You're so nice and grand-fatherly. 

Grant (in relief). Then I'm perfectly safe. 

Juliet. And we immediately suspend all conven- 
tions. 

Ruth. We'll all be known bv our first names. I'm 
Ruth. 

Lansing. I'm Bert. 

Juliet. I'm Juliet. 

Grant. Then I'll be Romeo.. 

Ruth. Now, w r e're all settled — and if we don't suit 
each other, w r e can become perfect strangers w r hen the 
train comes in. 

Grant. Not much danger of that. 

Juliet (motioning). Sit here, Romeo, and let's talk 
about the family feud. (Grant sits by her.) 

Lansing (returning to back of stage). Come over 
to m} T side, Ruth, and we'll play Robinson Crusoe. 

Ruth. If you'll let me call you Fridav instead of 
Bert. 

Lansing. Anything unlucky about Friday? 

Ruth (crossing to him). Not a bit of it, He was 
the luckiest thing that ever happened to Robinson 
Crusoe. 



66 RUTH IN A RUSK 

Lansing. Then Friday I am 1 

Ruth (as they seat themselves). How did you find 
out about this latest freak of tjhe local? 

Lansing. Heard it ticked off — 

Ruth. And interpreted by the lady at the ticket 
window, I suppose. 

Lansing. The same. Said lady gave me to under- 
stand that when it comes to real excitement, Sunshine 
Junction is right on the map. 

Juliet. Excitement? Here? \ 

Lansing. Here. Escaped convicts are a specialty. 

Grant. Quite metropolitan that, 

Lansing. And also — eloping couples. 

Juliet. Oh — what fun ! 

Lansing. And lunatics. 

Ruth. Lunatics? 

Lansing. One is scheduled for this very afternoon. 
Some poor young thing whose lover went west. 

Ruth. Oh — don't, 

Lansing. Anyway --— if you think you're on a des- 
ert isle, guess again. As our friend Wordsworth says, 
" The world is too much with us." 

Juliet. I believe it. If we were to investigate a 
little further, we should probably find an up-to-date 
cafe in the vicinity of the depot. 

Grant. How can you mention it, Juliet? Let me 
inform you that my friend and I had a scanty lunch, 
that it is tea time — and that there's everything in the 
power of suggestion. 

Ruth (thoughtfully). Tea wouldn't be bad. 

Grant. Or sandwiches — 

Ruth. Or little cakes. (Glances at Lansing who 
seems lost in thought.) Don't look so glum over the 



RUTH IN A RUSH 67 

situation, Friday — or is it possible that our bill of 
fare doesn't appeal to you? 

Lansing. I happen to be thinking of a little hostelry 
in the Austrian Tyrol, where — once upon a time — I 
indulged in the most indescribable of dinners. 

Juliet. And I happen to be thinking of a darling 
little inn tucked away in a village of France — with 
dainty white curtains and pots of red geraniums — 
where one is fed delicious souffles, and heavenly salads 
and dream puddings. (Sighs.) I wish we were all 
there ! 

Lansing. Oh, come now, Juliet — that's too ethe- 
real. Let's run up to London and indulge in some real 
roast beef on piping hot plates with boiled potatoes 
and Brussels sprouts as accessories. 

Juliet. In summer time? No, thanks. Me for 
Devonshire and an arbor surrounded by hollyhocks and 
daisies where I can eat strawberries and cream to my 
heart's content. 

Grant. Aren't you traveled and uppish, both of 
you? We have no such lofty notions, have we, Ruth? 

Ruth. Hardly. Why, I'd be content with any 
kind of an ice-cream that any kind of a drug store 
could furnish ! 

Juliet. What a gastronomical picture we've 
painted ! 

Lansing. Beginning in the Tyrol and ending in a 
corner drug store ! 

Grant (rising). But it's going to end right here in 
Sunshine Junction station. I'm wondering if Juliet 
will help me make a survey of the surrounding country. 
For I intend to beg, borrow or steal enough to furnish 
us with a substitute for afternoon tea. 

Juliet (rising). What fun! Of course I'll go. 



68 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. And while you are foraging I'll keep the 
home fires burning. 

Juliet. In what, please? 

Ruth {pointing) . That stove. I've had my eye on 
it for some time — and I see possibilities. 

Juliet. What nonsense ! 

Ruth. You won't say so — later on. 

Grant. Are you really game, Juliet, about going 
out in all this rain? 

Juliet. So game that I won't play at all unless you 
take me along. 

Grant. Then off we go — and who knows but that 
the heavens will rain manna upon us! (Opens the 
door. ) 

Ruth. Please bring me some tea. 

Juliet. But, Ruth — we have no way of making 
tea. 

Ruth. Never mind about that. Just bring me the 
tea. 

Grant. You bet we'll bring it. (Exeunt Grant 
and Juliet.) 

Ruth (jumping up). This is what I call real fun 
— and a real adventure. (Comes down stage.) I've 
always wanted to be cast upon a desert island with 
nothing to rely upon but my own ingenuity — 

Lansing {following). And your man, Friday. 
Don't leave him out. 

Ruth. I couldn't. Has he a match? 

Lansing (producing a match safe). Plenty of 
them. 

Ruth. And a newspaper? 

Lansing. Enough to start a bonfire. (Takes pa- 
pers, from pocket and throws rain coat to back of 
■stage. ) 



RUTH IN A RUSH 69 



Ruth. Then — let's get to work. (Goes to stove 
and opens door.) Look! Some real coal in it — and 
(points to wood) — some wood — and (takes lid from 
stove) the top comes off. Hurrah for our cup of tea! 

Lansing. I have faith in your magic wand, Ruth 
— but I don't see — 

Ruth (kneeling in front of stove). Of course you 
don't see. Let's make the fire — and then we'll dem- 
onstrate. (Together they lay the wood and news- 
paper, while Lansing applies the match.) Do you 
think it will burn? 

Lansing. Sure. (As she crosses to R., and opens 
her traveling bag.) Now what are you planning to 
evolve — a tea kettle and some tea cups? (Follows.) 

Ruth. How did you ever guess it? (Takes out a 
large box, lays the lid on the seat and empties the 
remaining ma rshm allows in the lid.) This (waving 
box) is our tea-kettle — bend a nice little spout in it, 
will you? (He takes it.) And here are our tea cups. 
(Takes paper cups from bag.) Six perfectly good 
paper drinking cups. 

Lansing. You're a wizard. (Flourishes box.) 
How's that for a spout? 

Ruth (taking it). Corking. Now, all we need is 
a handle — and that's in the Capulet bag. (Goes to 
back of stage, opens Juliet's bag and draws out curling 
tongs which she snaps on the box.) Now with a little 
turn — and twist — so — we have — 

Lansing. A saucepan. I insist that it is a sauce- 
pan instead of a tea kettle. 

Ruth. I believe you're right. Anyway it's my in- 
vention. (Runs to stove and peeps in.) And — oh, 
Friday — the fire's burning ! 



70 RUTH IX A RUSH 

Lansing. Of course it is. That newspaper was hot 
stuff. 

Ruth. No time for silly jokes ! Get me some water 
in this saucepan — just enough to scald it. 

Lansing (as he takes it). Shall I stand outside and 
let the rain fall into it? 

Ruth. You're not very observing, Friday, or that 
stunning water cooler would have impressed itself in- 
delibly upon your mind. (Points.) 

Lansing. My mind — and eyes — have been other- 
wise occupied. (Draws water from cooler.) 

Ruth. There — that's enough. (As she takes off 
the stove lid, Lansing places the box upon the stove.) 
You aren't much of a domestic treasure, are you? 

Lansing. Didn't we agree not to ask personal ques- 
tions ? 

Ruth. We did — and I stand corrected. (Mis- 
chievously.) But, just the same — you aren't. - 

Lansing. But you are. 

Ruth (laughing). Just, because I know how to con- 
struct a saucepan and to boil water? (As Grant and 
Juliet enter.) Did you have any luck? 

Juliet. It depends upon what you call luck. 

Lansing. You certainly don't look as if you'd 
bought out the town. 

Grant. Naturally, we didn't feel like invading pri- 
vate homes — but we did find a funny little shop where 
an equally funny little woman very grudgingly parted 
with her few wares. (Hands small parcel to Ruth. ) 
Here's your tea, Ruth. 

Ruth. Well — that helps. 

Juliet (handing another small parcel to Ruth). 
And enough sugar, I hope. 

Grant (producing lemon from one pocket). Also .1 



RUTH IN A RUSH 71 

lemon. (Critically regards it.) Even the most daunt- 
less optimist must confess that it has outlived its use- 
fulness. 

Juliet (waving a cracker box). And some crackers 
— the nice, big old-fashioned kind. (Throws rain coat 
off, R.) 

Grant (producing cheese from the other pocket.) 
And cheese. (Sniffs.) It's the kind that believes in 
advertising itself. 

Lansing (at stove). Please, cook, the water's boil- 
ing. 

Ruth (turning to him). That's just to sterilize the 
box. Now throw it out and re-fill for the tea. 
(Lansing obeys.) 

Juliet (examining box). Well of all queer looking 
contrivances ! 

Ruth. You're just cross because those tongs si- 
lently reveal to the assembled multitude the fact that 
your hair doesn't curl naturally. Open the crackers 
and make a nice little tea ball for me out of your clean- 
est, freshest handkerchief. (Juliet busies herself at 

R.) 

Lansing (placing box on stove). Put Romeo to 
work. 

Ruth. He's good at sword play so he may slice the 
lemon and cut the cheese. (Sniffs.) Perhaps, you'd 
better go out into the open for that operation, Romeo. 
(Takes tea which Juliet has tied into one end of a 
handkerchief.) 

Grant (throwing rain coat on seat at back of stage 
and systematic ally going through his pockets). By 
Jove — I don't believe I have a knife. 

Lansing. Then — try mine. (Hands him a knife.) 
Though that lemon needs a razor. (Sniffs as Grant 



72 RUTH IN A RUSH 

slices cheese.) You needn't count me in on the cheese 
deal. 

Grant (slicing lemon). Now what's the matter with 
the cheese? "A rose by any other name would smell 
as sweet." 

Ruth. Something wrong with your sense of smell, 
Mr. Montague. 

Juliet (crossing to Grant). Lend me your knife, 
Romeo. This box seems to be nailed together. 
(Sniffs.) Dear me ! Don't you think it's a bit strong? 
(Uses knife, then lays it upon seat.) 

Grant (reproachfully). Even you, Juliet, stand 
against me. 

Juliet (pointing to cheese). How can I stand with 
you? 

Grant. Then out it goes — (dramatically). Ard 
if your feast is cheeseless, blame not the Montague ! 
(Goes to door and throws out the cheese.) Sounds like 
Shakespeare, doesn't it? Shows that any old fellow 
can talk in blank verse if he half tries. 

Lansing. Just finding that out? 

Ruth (at stove). Water's almost ready for the tea. 
Drag out the suit cases, Romeo, and you and Juliet can 
be guests. Friday and I will do the honors. (Grant 
and Juliet seat themselves on suit cases at C.) 

Grant (as Lansing presents each with a paper cup). 
What's this? 

Lansing. It's your tea cup. Don't act as if you'd 
never been out in polite society. 

Ruth (following with tin box). I pour some water 
— so — hold it steady, Romeo — then drop in the tea 
ball — (holds it in water for a moment) —and there 
you are! Follow with the lemon and the sugar, Fri- 
day. (Passes on to Juliet.) 



RUTH IN A RUSH 73 

Lansing. Where is the lemon? 

Grant. Over by the cheese knife. 

Lansing. Great heavens ! The lemon won't have a 
chance. (Crosses.) 

Ruth. You must stir your tea with the knife as we 
haven't spoons. Bring it along, Friday, and I'll pass 
the sugar. (To Grant as she opens the package of 
sugar.) How much shall I shake out? 

Grant. A lot. (Makes wry face as he tastes it.) 
This tea needs something. 

Ruth. That isn't nice to say when I made it. 

Lansing (stirring Grant's tea vigorously with 
knife). I should say not. You don't need any lemon 
after that remark. 

Juliet (to Ruth). I don't want that sugar — it 
looks dirty. (Critically.) I don't care for any lemon, 
either. 

Ruth. Well of all particular creatures! (Points 
to crackers which Juliet still holds.) Pass the crack- 
ers, Jule. Perhaps they will help out. (Ruth and 
Lansing stand at stove with backs to Grant and 
Juliet.) 

Lansing. Now let me fix your tea for you. 

Ruth. No — you're first, Friday — (as he pro- 
tests) — oh, I insist. Here's your cup. (He holds it 
as she pours the water and lowers the tea ball. ) Shall 
I make it strong? 

Lansing (without taking his eyes off her). Make it 
any old way. 

Ruth. Sugar? 

Lansing. Do you think I need it? 

Ruth. We aren't to ask personal questions, you 
know. (Pauses.) Lemon? 

Lansing. I hope you don't think so. 



74 RUTH IN A RUSH 



Ruth. I don't. 

Juliet (who, in the meantime, has presented Grant 
with a cracker). I never saw such crackers. I can't 
even get my teeth through them. 

Grant (gloomily). Crackers? They're dog bis- 
cuit. 

Ruth (who, with Lansing, has been oblivious to the 
others). Now, drink my health. 

Lansing. With all my heart. (Drinks.) It's 
heavenly brew. 

Grant. This stuff doesn't seem to mix. 

Juliet. And the cup is so hot that I can't hold it, — 
and it's dreadful to drink it all at once. 

Ruth (as Lansing proceeds to fill her cup and to 
make the tea). You are a domestic treasure, Friday. 
I take back everything I said to the contrary. 

Lansing. Now suppose you drink my health. 

Ruth. With all my heart. (Drinks.) It isn't so 
bad, is it? 

Juliet. Well, Ruth! I should think that your ali- 
mentary canal would be scalded ! Think of drinking it 
down like that! (Xo answer.) I don't believe that 
you two know what you are doing. 

Grant. And they certainly don't know what we're 
saying. (Rises.) Come along, Juliet — now's the 
time to ditch the food. (They tiptoe to the door and 
disappear. ) 

Rt t th. How about that indescribable dinner in the 
Austrian Tyrol, Friday? 

Lansing. I've forgotten it — now. 

Ruth. And can you think upon the roast beef and 
the boiled potatoes and the Brussels sprouts without a 
regret ? 

Lansing. Without a regret. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 75 

Ruth. I don't believe it - — but you're a dear to say 
so. What about the Devonshire strawberries and 
cream, Jule? (Turns.) Good gracious, they're gone. 

Lansing. We don"t care, do we? 

Enter Grant and Juliet 

Grant. It's stopped raining — and if we had gaso- 
line we could all be on our way. Do you suppose there's 
a drop of the stuff in this benighted burg, Gil? 

Lansing. We might investigate. 

Ruth (crossing to /?.). A brisk walk after our 
heavy meal won't hurt us, anyway. (Gathers up the 
mar shm allows.) Gather up the trash, Friday, and put 
it all in the box by the stove. I'll slip on my coat. 
(She pats on her coat as Juliet joins her at R., and 
as Grant and Lansing place the suit cases in their 
former positions and dump the remains of the tea-party 
into the wood box.) 

Lansing (at Li). No doubt of which one is the 
heiress, is there? Did you see the way in which the 
finicky creature spurned her tea and talked of Devon- 
shire strawberries ? 

Grant. Who could have swallowed that stuff — it 
was rotten. Anyway, I don't care if she is the heiress. 

Lansing. That suits rac all right. 

Juliet (at R.). Have you found out if he is the 
millionaire? 

Ruth. I don't care if he is a rag picker. 

Juliet. A noble — but peculiar sentiment — my 
dear. 

Grant. Come on, Juliet. We'll go ahead. 
Juliet (as she joins him at door). And blaze the 
trail, (Exeunt Grant and Juliet.) 



76 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth (coming to Lansing). Friday, what did Ro- 
meo call you a moment ago? Gil? 

Lansing. Bill, I guess. It's a pet name he has for 
me. Let me remind you, Ruth, that we're not to ask 
each other personal questions. 

Ruth (as they pass out the door). Sometimes, Fri- 
day, you're very irritating. 

Hardly have they disappeared when the door cau- 
tiously opens and Peggy Pat steps in. She is a woe 
begone object for her dainty summer gown is be- 
draggled — and a long dark coat has not wholly pro- 
tected her from the storm. Her flower-laden hat 
droops pathetically and her white pumps are heavily 
crusted with mud. After her comes Lambert, attired 
in a light summer suit, long motor coat and motor cap. 
His expression can best be described as perturbed. 

Peggy Pat (as she limps painfully into the room). 
Oh — Dwight — I'll never elope with you again ! If I 
had known that it was to be like this, I should not have 
promised you. 

Lambert (helping to R.). Now — now — Peggy 
Pat. Don't you worry — it will soon be over. 

Peggy Pat (sobbmg on his shoulder). Oh, you don't 
know that it will ! I just feel that something is going to 
happen ! 

Lambert. Nothing can happen now — and just as 
soon as I fix that car, we'll ride right over that bound- 
ary line — and settle everything. 

Peggy Pat (as they seat themselves) . I'm afraid — 

Lambert. Afraid of what? You're with me. 

Peggy Pat. Yes — but dad is after us. That 
makes a difference. 

Lambert. You don't know that he's after us. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 77 

Peggy Pat. He saw me get in the car — and hand 
you the suit case. (Wails.) Oh, why did he come 
along that particular street just at that particular 
moment ! 

Lambert. He probably didn't think a thing about 
it. 

Peggy Pat. Oh, didn't he? Well, if he told 
mother, she would think a few things ! 

Lambert. Well, it won't take me long to regulate 
the car, so if you'll stay right here — and rest — 
(kneels) Here — off come the slippers — that'll help. 
(Takes them off.) 

Peggy Pat (tearfully powdering her nose). Oh, 
Dwight, such a looking bride as you'll have! 

Lambert. The prettiest in the world. 

Peggy Pat. But not so pretty as if you'd waited 
for her until next Wednesday. 

Lambert. Are you sorry — that I didn't? 

Peggy Pat. Sorry? Would I be here if I were 
sorry? 

Lambert. Wouldn't you rather have just — our- 
selves — instead of all that mob? 

Peggy Pat (putting her arms around his neck). 
Oh, you know I should — you know it. I don't want 
anything in the world right now but you — - 1 mean I 
don't want anything but to get married — but that's 
the same as you, isn't it? (Hysterically.) Oh, dear 
— I don't know what I want ! 

Lambert. Well, don't you worry — / know. 
(Rises.) And now — I'll be off. 

Peggy Pat (wailing). Oh, don't leave me — don't 
leave me — 

Lambert. But I must, dear. 

Peggy Pat (calming down). Of course. 



7S RUTH IN A RUSH 



idiot. But hurry back — - for I can't help being fright- 
ened. 

Lambert. You bet I'll hurry. (Rushes off.) 

Peggy Pat, left to herself, looks nervously around, 
then walks to the front of the stage, takes off her hat 
and shakes the water from it. Unseen by Peggy Pat, 
Sadie appears at ticket window. 

Peggy Pat (to herself). Something's going to hap- 
pen — something's going to happen — oh, I know it. 
And I won't go back — I won't go back ! (Shakes the 
hat violently.) Oh, dear — oh, dear — oh, dear! 
(Her voice rises to a shriek.) 

Sadie. Sakes alive ! It's worse than I thought it 
would be ! 

Peggy Pat (wheeling about). What do you mean? 

Sadie (soothingly). Nothing, dearie, nothing. 
Now don't get excited. 

Peggy Pat (at window). Who are you? 

Sadie (patting her shoulder). Just a friend, dearie. 
Now — now — nobody's going to hurt you. 

Peggy Pat. Why should anybody hurt me? 

Sadie. Don't you worry about that. (To herself.) 
Poor lamb ! 

Peggy Pat. Why do you look at me so? ( Wildly.) 
Has anything happened to him? 

Sadie. Let's not talk about him. 

Peggy Pat. But we will talk about him. (Desper- 
ately.) Tell me. 

Sadie. Tell you what? 

Peggy Pat. What you meant by looking as if you 
were sorry for me. 

Sadie. Now I didn't mean a thing in the world. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 79 

Peggy Pat. Yes — you did — and I'm going to see 
what's the matter. (Starts toward door.) 

Sadie. He ain't out there, dearie. 

Peggy Pat. Then where is he? (Weakly.) They 
haven't caught him, have they? 

Sadie. Now you mustn't think about him any more. 
It can't be helped — and — 

Peggy Pat. Who — what? Oh, you do talk so 
strangely ! 

Sadie (to herself, nervously). Dear me! I wish 
he'd come ! 

Peggy Pat (excitedly). Who's coining? Has — 
anybody — told — you — to — look — out — for — 
me? 

Sadie. Not exactly that — but ■ — 

Enter Lambert 

Peggy Pat (running to him). Oh, Dwight — 
Dwight ! She says such queer things to me ! 

Lambert (soothingly). Now — now — 

Peggy Pat. And she knows — she knows. 

Sadie. I've been wondering about you, young man, 
and was beginning to get worried. (Nods toward 
Peggy Pat.) Did she break away? 

Lambert. I don't believe I understand. 

Sadie. You're in charge of her, ain't you? 

Lambert (confused). Why — yes — if you want 
to put it that way. 

Sadie. Taking the night train? 

Lambert (still more perplexed). Well — not ex- 
actly. 

Sadie. Well — they said you were. 

Peggy Pat. Who said? 



80 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Sadie. That fellow who passed through here yester- 
day. 

Lambert. What fellow? 

Sadie. See here, young man, do you think I don't 
know all about her? 

Lambert (defiantly) . There is nothing to know. 

Sadie (sarcastically). Oh, is that so? Well — 
she's the crazy girl we're expecting from up country. 

Peggy Pat (indignantly). Crazy I Well, I never! 
Crazy I You're the crazy one ! 

Lambert. Hush ! Come over here and put on your 
slippers. (Leads her to R. and whispers as he holds the 
slippers for her. ) Don't you see that this is our chance 
to escape? 

Peggy Pat. No, I don't. The idea of calling me 
crazy ! 

Lambert. Listen, Peggy Pat. If anybody happens 
to follow and we are clever enough to manage this luna- 
tic stunt — it means a get-away for us. 

Peggy Pat (glaring at Sadie). But how can we 
manage it? 

Lambert. You pretend to be crazy. 

Peggy Pat. But I don't know how to be crazy. 

Lambert. Act just as you've been acting all after- 
noon. 

Peggy Pat (angrily). Why, Dwight, what a per- 
fectly horrid thing to say. 

Lambert. I didn't mean — that — honest I didn't. 
(As Peggy Pat sobs hysterically.) That's bully — 
keep it up. (Strolls back to the window.) 

Sadie. You're pretty young to have charge of her, 
ain't you? 

Lambert. Well — you see — she's in love with me 
— and — 



RUTH IN A RUSH 81 

Sadie. In love with you? Why I thought that her 
lover had died and that his death caused all this head 
trouble! 

Lambert (confused). Oh, did he? I mean — well 
— she — in fact she thinks I'm the other man. 

Sadie. Oh — I — see. Why on earth did they let 
her start out in that rig? 

Lambert. She wanted to wear it — and it's best to 
humor them, you know. 

Peggy Pat (weeping). Oh, dear — Oh, dear — Oh, 
dear! I won't go back — I won't go back ! 

Sadie (looking sympathetically at Peggy Pat). 
Sad, ain't it? (Bell rings.) That's long distance, I 
suppose. ( Disappears. ) 

Peggy Pat (going to Lambert). Did I do that all 
right ? 

Lambert. Bully ! 

Sadie re-appears 

Sadie. Don't mind if I put down the window, do 
you? I can't hear. (Ptdls down the window.) 

Lambert. Now we'll beat it. Put on your hat — 
and before you know it, we'll be across that state line. 

Peggy Pat has just adjusted her dejected hat and 
has drawn her coat together, when the door opens and 
Ruth followed by Lansing enters. 

Ruth (in amazement). Dwight ! Peggy Pat! 
What are you doing here? (Lansing crosses, bach of 
stage to R. and stands apart.) 

Peggy Pat. What are you doing here? 

Ruth. I'm on my way to Jean's for a week-end. 

Peggy Pat (defiantly). Well — we're eloping! 

Ruth. Eloping! In those clothes? 



82 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Peggy Pat. I can't help the clothes. Dwight had 
to take me when he could get me — and that, was on my 
way to a luncheon. 

Ruth. But what put it into your heads to elope? 

Lambert. What put it in there? Why, you. 

Ruth. If 

Peggy Pat. Didn't you tell us that it was the only 
thing to do? You did — you know you did. 

Ruth. But, my dear infants, you should have done 
it sooner. Your wedding invitations are out — your 
plans are made — 

Peggy Pat. And I just couldn't stand another 
party ! So when mother said I must give a dinner to 
the bridesmaids, I broke down and told her that I'd 
scratch out their eyes if I had to look at them another 
time. 

Ruth. Yeggy Pat ! 

Peggy Pat. Yes, I did — and then I said I'd elope 
— and — 

Ruth. Yes? 

Peggy Pat. She raved, Ruth — yes, she raved — 
So Dwight and I decided that we'd do it — and we're 
not sorry — are we, Dwight? 

Lambert (as he puts his arms about her). Sorry? 
Well, I guess not. 

'Enter Juliet and Grant 

Juliet. Good gracious! (At a signal from Lan- 
sing, Grant crosses back of stage to R. and joins him.) 
What have we here? 

Ruth. An elopement. 

Juliet (to Ruth). I told you so — I told you so. 
Now you've done it, Ruth. (To Lambkrt.) Are you 
on the way or is the deed alreadv done? 



RUTH IN A RUSH 83 

Lambert. We're on our way. And if this darned 
old car hadn't needed overhauling, we should have been 
married by this time. {Pleadingly.) You won't tell 
on us, will you, Ruth? 

Ruth. Tell — whom ? 

Peggy Pat. Dad. He saw me get into the car with 
a suit case and I know he's on our trail. 

Ruth {slowly). I don't know that I approve — 

Lambert. Ruth — Ruth! You wouldn't — you 
couldn't — 

Peggy Pat. And after you told us to do it ! 

Ruth {laughingly). Why, you dears, I wouldn't 
give you away for anything ! 

Lambert. Bully for you ! Now we're off — and 
there isn't a single, solitary thing to keep us from dash- 
ing right over that dividing line ! 

And then — just as they are about to make a trium- 
phal exit, Sadie enters — in great excitement and fairly 
bristling with importance. 

Sadie {striking a dramatic attitude). Which of all 
this bunch is the elopers? {For a moment there is no 
response — then Ruth and Juliet move to C. and 
Lambert with Peggy Pat down L. Each looks hope- 
lessly at the other.) There's no use in trying to fool 
me — and there's no use in trying to get out of this. 
That long distance call was from a policeman and we're 
ordered to keep the two until the girl's father gets here. 

Lansing. You can't keep people against their will. 

Sadie. Oh, can't I? Well, you'll find out. 

Peggy Pat {crossing to Ruth and drawing her 
aside). Oh, Ruth — Ruth — save us — save us. You 
can — and you must — because it's your fault that 
we're eloping. 



84 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. How can I save you? 

Peggy Pat. Pretend that you're me. Give us a 
chance to slip out — and after that, you can easily ex- 
plain. Promise, Ruth — oh, promise. 

Ruth (suddenly) . Of course I'll promise. 

Sadie (stepping to €.}. Well of all the modest out- 
fit! Are you ashamed to acknowledge each other? 
Now — speak up. 

Ruth. Well — I will speak up. I'm the culprit — 
I'm the eloper — I'm the object of your telephone com- 
munication. Now, what are you going to do about it? 

(In the midst of the excitement which follows, Peggy 
Pat steals quietly back of stage and joins Lambert at 
door. They slip out, unobserved.) 

Juliet. Ruth! (Crosses to Grant.) 

Sadie. Going to do about it? Keep you right here 
until the old gentleman who's so hot after you, gets a 
chance to nab you. (Pauses.) Who's your partner? 

Lansing (strolling carelessly to Ruth's side). 
Why, I am, of course. We've kept you guessing quite 
a while, haven't we? 

Sadie. Not as -much as you think. I had my sus- 
picions the minute you asked for two tickets to Willow- 
dene — though why you should be going that way in- 
stead of across the line, I don't know. 

Lansing. If we prefer to be married at Willowdene, 
whose business is it? 

Sadie. None of mine, I'm sure. And I don't mind 
saying that you're the oldest looking couple to be elop- 
ing that I ever saw. (From outside comes tlie honk of 
a car.) What's that? 

Grant. Wedding bells, I fancy. Too bad that 
we're obliged to turn the tables — and have the joke on 
you ? 



RUTH IN A RUSH 85 

Sadie. What do you mean? 

Ruth. That the two youngsters who have just 
escaped are the real culprits. We're only make- 
believe. 

Sadie. That'll do to tell. 

Ruth. But it's true — they're both my friends. 

Sadie. Still, it don't go with me for I happen to 
know that the poor little girl is plumb crazy in her head 
— and the young fellow is taking her to the asylum. 

Juliet. Oh — how — screamingly — funny ! 

Lansing. Did they own up to that? 

Sadie. Of course they did. Think I'd be taking it 
on hearsay? 

Lansing. Then they were pretty clever to put it 
over. 

Sadie. Oh — were they? Well, I'm not accepting 
your word as to who they are and who they aren't. 
You're the ones who will have to be identified. 

Ruth. You don't mean to say that you really be- 
lieve we are the elopers — and that you'd dare to detain 
us here? 

Sadie. Oh — don't I? Well — just to show you 
what I do mean — {produces handcuffs which she has 
had hidden in her dress). There ! (Snaps them on 
hcmd of each.) 

Lansing. This is an insult — ridiculous ! Take off 
these things. (From outside comes a train whistle.) 

Juliet. The local ! 

Sadie. Take them off? Not until that train pulls 
safely out. I've got to do my duty. 

Grant. But it's imperative that we all take that 
train. 

Sadie (laconically). Sorry. (Goes out.) 

Grant (to Lansing). Look here — I can't leave 
vou like this. 



86 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Lansing {smiling). Oh — yes you can. 

Juliet (to Ruth). And Ruth — what am / to do? 

Ruth. Do? You and Romeo arc to go on as fast 
as that stupid train can carry you. 

Juliet (catching up her coat). But — you — 

Ruth. I'll be all right — Friday will see to that. 

Juliet. And I'll see that Jean sends the very fastest 
car she has - — 

Ruth. For both of us. By that time we shall prob- 
ably be acquitted. 

Lansing. So you know that we, too, are on our way 
to Willowdene. 

Ruth. Of course. F very body knows — or ought 
to know — by this time that we all have one objective 
point. Jule, explain everything to Romeo — - and for 
pity's sake, don't miss the train. Now — hurry. 

Grant (who has taken Juliet's bag and his own). 
Ready? (Shahijig Lansing's free hand.) Good-bye, 
old fellow — never thought to see you in handcuffs. 

Lansing (sharply). Don't stop for that. 

Grant. And I hate to leave you. (As he reaches 
door.) In fact — using the words of the immortal 
Montague " Parting is such sweet sorrow." 

Lansing. Get out! 

Juliet (as she and Grant hurry out of the room). 
Till later, then. Good-bye. 

(For a moment there is absolute silence — then the 
train shrieks its farewell — and the ichistle dies away. 
Ruth aid Lansing look helplessly at eacJi other and at 
their handcuffed hands.) 

Lansing (laughing). I hope you're in no particular 
rush. 

Ruth. For once in my life — Vm not. 

Curtain 



RUTH IN A RUSH 

The Third Act 

Scene: Same as Act II. The stage grows gradu- 
ally darker, although never dark enough to obscure the 
characters. 

Curtain rises upon Sadie removing the handcuff's 
from Ruth and Lansing who are seated at N. Ruth's 
hat is off, her face is flushed and smiling, and she gives 
no evidence of fatigue or discomfort. Lansing is 
equally gay and only Sadie adds a touch of gloom to 
the scene. She gives the impression of being officially 
misunderstood and yet properly apologetic — and takes 
off the handcuffs half reluctantly. 

Sadie. You ain't blanung nie too much, arc you? 

Lansing. We're not blaming you at all. Devotion 
to one's duty — even in the face of obstacles — is more 
than praiseworthy — it's sublime. 

Sadie. Don't talk slush. 

Ruth. And I'll always be indebted to you for an ex- 
perience — a real experience — and a sure enough ad- 
venture. 

Sadie. I don't see where the adventure comes in. 
. Ruth. You dont? Not everybody has the oppor- 
tunity to wear handcuffs. 

Sadie. That's because it ain't a popular opportun- 
ity. 

Ruth. Why- — even jail becomes alluring {laugh- 
ingly) — if I can take along my side-partner. 

Lansing. Comrades in crime ! Don't tempt me, 
Ruth. 

Ruth. Wouldn't we sound well in print ! " Un- 

37 



88 RUTH IN A RUSH 

known pair in Sunshine Junction refuse to reveal iden- 
tity — aid in the escape of an eloping couple — and are 
arrested and handcuffed ! The cross in the accompany- 
ing photograph shows the place where the tragedy oc- 
curred." 

Lansing. Don't forget the scene with the Irate 
Parent. I never hope to see a madder man than he 
when he discovered you in the place of his wayward 
daughter. 

Ruth. Which leads me to believe that whatever af- 
fection he has had for me is now a thing of the past. 

Sadie. Do you think he'll catch up with them? 

Ruth. Never in the world. Love laughs at pursu- 
ers — as well as at locksmiths — especially when love 
has the start. 

Lansing. I watched the departure of the Parent — 
and he headed his car — not for the borderline but for 
home. Down in his heart I believe he is glad his daugh- 
ter has possessed courage enough to defy convention. 

Ruth. I hope so. The wrong sort of convention 
ought to be defied. 

Sadie. What do you mean? 

Ruth. Oh, the silly round of parties — the ava- 
lanche of trousseau — the showy wedding — and — 

Sadie (breathlessly). You don't mean to say that 
she gave up all these things — just to elope with that 
fellow? 

Ruth. Why not? • 

Sadie (in great disgust). Then she is nutty. 

Ruth. Every reformer falls heir to that criticism, I 
believe. 

Sadie. And if I hadn't just heard that the crazy 
pair are to arrive tomorrow, I'd still think she was that 
poor, silly young thing. ( Walks to C.) 



RUTH IN A RUSH 89 

Ruth. Naturally. 

Sadie. Honest to goodness — when I saw her walk- 
ing around in her stocking feet and waving that big hat 
and talking to herself — well — (pauses) — now see 
here — wouldn't you have thought she was the lunatic ? 

Lansing. Undoubtedly. 

Sadie. It ain't often that I'm taken in — and it 
kind-a-hurts my pride to be fooled twice in succession 
all on one afternoon. 

Ruth. I shouldn't look at it that way. We were to 
blame for the first misunderstanding — and as to the 
elopers — 

Sadie. They would have fooled anybody. (Reflec- 
tively.) You just ought to have seen that silly girl. 

Ruth. But love makes us all silly — and you must 
remember that poor Peggy Pat had a father on her 
trail. 

Sadie. And he ought to have caught her. Weak- 
minded people ain't got a right to be roaming round and 
scaring other people into fits. 

Lansing. There's one thing your friend failed to 
utter, Ruth. 

Ruth. Really? I thought his vocabulary unusu- 
ally complete. 

Lansing. Your name. 

Ruth. He has always been so much of a family 
friend that : — fortunately for me — he thinks of me 
only in the terms of Ruth. (Laughingly.) Sorry! 

Sadie (to Lansing). Do you mean to say that you 
don't know what her la # st name is? 

Lansing. That very thing. (Gaily.) But what 
matter? In years agone I was Paris to her Helen, 
Antony to her Cleopatra — 

Ruth. And Ananias to her Sapphira ! 



90 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Sadie. Look here, Mr. Writer-man, your talk 
sounds queer to me. (Suspiciously.) You don't hap- 
pen to have anything in that suit case that — (hesi- 
tates). 

Lansing. Not a bit of it. I have drunk of a deeper 
draught than you can comprehend, Miss Sodastrom. 

Ruth (with sudden interest). What made you call 
him Writer-man? 

Sadie. Just because he says he is. Strikes me that 
you two know mighty little about each other to be so 
friendly like. 

Ruth (to Lansing). Do you write? 

Lansing (jokingly). Advertisements. 

Sadie (in a relieved tone). So that's what you mean 
by wanting local color ! (Turns.) Well — I'm going. 

Ruth. Please don't. We might escape. 

Sadie (at door). That's nothing to me, now. 
(Pauses.) Say, I don't blame you for being sore at me 
for causing you all this trouble. 

Ruth. Trouble? It doesn't look like trouble to me. 

Lansing. Trouble? There is no such thing in all 
the world. 

Sadie (disapprovingly). There you go again. 
(Pauses.) Well, if you want anything — 

Ruth (blithely). We won't. 

Sadie. Or if your friends don't call for you — 

Lansing. They will (sighs) — alas! 

Sadie. You'll find me — 

Lansing. In the first house across the road? Ex- 
actly. 

Sadie (despondently) . I ain't much good as a detec- 
tive or a sheriff I'm thinking — and I apologize — hon- 
est I do. (Exit.) 

Ruth (glancing at her watch). I'm sure they are 



RUTH IN A RUSH 91 

at Willowdene by this time — so we may expect the 
relief ambulance as soon as the news is broken to — 
(hesitates). 

Lansing (eagerly). Yes? 

Ruth. My hostess. (As he sighs.) What's the 
matter? 

Lansing. I was afraid you were going to say — my 
sister. 

Ruth. Well — what if I had? 

Lansing. You would have pricked my soapbubble of 
rainbow hues. 

Ruth. But — why ? 

Lansing. Because I wish to think of you as — Ruth 
— not as the heiress. 

Ruth. What difference does it make? 

Lansing. The difference between an appalling and 
barrierlike bank account and — you, 

Ruth. But she can't help her money. 

Lansing. Of course she can't. She is very charm- 
ing and very talented, no doubt — but she isn't — you. 
Do you notice, Ruth, how all my dissertations seem to 
center upon the pronoun of the second person? 

Ruth. Then isn't it time for each of us to discuss 
this second person — rather thoroughly? 

Lansing. Why not? 

Ruth. What do you know of the heiress — as you 
call her? 

Lansing. Nothing. Mrs. Foster's charming note 
of invitation informed us that the other guests would be 
her sister — and a friend. 

Ruth. Do you know anything about the sister? 

Lansing. Nothing — except her name. Romeo fur- 
nished that bit of information. So you may readily see 
why I hoped that the Irate Parent would address 



92 RUTH IN A RUSH 

you in formal style and tell me what I wanted to know. 

Ruth (after a moment). Don't call your friend 
Romeo. What is his real name? 

Lansing. Philip Grant. 

Ruth. Is he the millionaire? 

Lansing. Now what do you know about the million- 
aire ? 

Ruth. Well — my note of invitation informed me 
that the other guests would be a millionaire — and a 
somebody designated as distinguished. 

Lansing. No names? 

Ruth. No names. 

Lansing. What makes you think that Phil is the 
millionaire? 

Ruth. I don't say that I think he is. I am asking 
for information. 

Lansing. Do you want him to be? 

Ruth. What a question ! I much prefer to know if 
you're the distinguished one. 

Lansing. That adjective hardly belongs to me — 
but I'm not the millionaire — if that helps any. 

Ruth. Oh, I've hoped all along that you weren't — 
and then when that girl called you Writer-man, I just 
knew. (Eagerly.) Do you write? Really write? 

Lansing. I make my living in that way. 

Ruth. And — what do you write? 

Lansing. An essay here — a story there — and 
sometimes a novel. 

Ruth. Oh! 

Lansing. And I'm eternally and everlastingly evolv- 
ing the characters who trip in and out of my pages. 

Ruth. Oh — how splendid ! 

Lansing. Shall I tell you of the one who is always 
with me? 



RUTH IN A RUSH 93 

Ruth. Please. 

Lansing. She isn't only a book lady — she's a com- 
panion and when the others fade away, she stays. 

She smiles at me from the other side of my camp fire ; 
she's sweetly serious when I am working at my desk — 
and she always understands my mood. She's a real 
friend — a real comrade. 

Ruth. You must have modeled her after some one 
whom you know — intimately. 

Lansing. On the other hand, I've been looking for 
her all my life. And today — I found her. 

Ruth {quickly). In the storm, I suppose. Did she 
wear a gown of grayish mist, carry a quiver of silver 
rain-shafts and leave a rainbow in her wake? 

Lansing. I'm not so sure of the grayish mist — 
nor of the silver rain-shafts — but I can answer for the 
rainbow. 

Ruth {rising). How we are digressing from the 
original subject! {Comes down R.) Since I am elim- 
inated from the heiress class, I must be, according to 
your logic, the other one. How was she described? 

Lansing. As — a friend. {Follows her.) 

Ruth. Hopelessly in the background, isn't she? 

Lansing. Not to me. {Stands back of her.) 

Ruth. And colorlessly commonplace when con- 
trasted with the glitter of Juliet's perfectly good dol- 
lars ? 

Lansing {sharply). Don't be foolish. 

Ruth. What will you say when I reveal the fact 
that I'm merely — a secretary? 

Lansing. A secretary to the heiress? 

Ruth. She doesn't need one. {Pauses.) I'm en- 
gaged by a really big man. 

Lansing. Look here, Ruth — did you say by or to? 



94 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. By — of course. (As he remains silent.) 
What's the matter? 

Lansing. I'm just getting my breath. Heart 
slipped a cog over that engaged business. 

Ruth. You're not only getting personal, Friday — 
but silly. 

Lansing. Well — who is this really big man? 

Ruth. He's a writer, too. 

Lansing. Lucky dog to get you. (Suddenly.) 
You wouldn't throw him over for another job, would 
you ? 

Ruth. Throw over Gilbert Lansing? 

(For a moment, Lansing's face is a study. Surprise, 
incredulity, and consternation succeed each other. He 
finally speaks — with an effort. ) 

Lansing. What — did — you — say? 

Ruth. I suppose you are surprised. 

Lansing. Surprised? I'm speechless. 

Ruth. That isn't much of a compliment to me. 

Lansing. Perhaps I don't fully understand. 

Ruth. Understand? There's nothing to under- 
stand. I have been engaged as Gilbert Lansing's pri- 
vate secretary and am to report the first of the month. 

Lansing. Then you are Ruth MacDonald. 

Ruth (wheeling around). How do you know my 
name? 

Lansing (walking to L.). Because — because — I 
happen to be a friend of Gilbert Lansing. 

Ruth (enthusiastically). Of course you'd be a 
friend — another writer! And he told you about me? 

Lansing. How else could I know? 

Ruth. It's quite wonderful! (Crosses to L. and 
drawls Lansing to back of stage where they seat them- 



RUTH IN A RUSH 95 

selves.) Now you must answer a thousand questions 
and tell me all about him. First — is he so very old? 

Lansing (hesitating). He's — he's — well, he has 
retained all his faculties. 

Ruth. Don't joke. I'm in earnest. 

Lansing. He's gray-headed — but — but — well, 
his heart is young. 

Ruth. I know now just what to expect. You said 
that in the same spirit that one woman describes an- 
other as well-meaning. 

Lansing. Oh — come now — 

Ruth. Is he — unattractive? 

Lansing. No — I shouldn't call him that. 

Ruth. Disagreeable? 

Lansing. Oh — he has moods, of course — 

Ruth. Literary temperament, I suppose. (Pauses.) 
I shall not like the man. 

Lansing. Oh, don't say that. 

Ruth. But I just feel it. 

Lansing (impulsively). But you will like him — 
you've got to like him — 

Ruth. No such thing. 

Lansing (seizing her hands). But I tell you that 
you will! 

Ruth (drawing her hands away). Why do you 
speak in such a way? 

Lansing. Because — because -7- (leans toward her). 
Why, Ruth,— I'm — I'm — 

(And just then a long and lusty wail of a motor horn 
brings them to their feet.) 

Ruth. What's that? 

Lansing. They've come after us — hang the luck ! 

Ruth. Oh — do you think so? (Impidsively 



96 RUTH IN A RUSH 

grasps his arm.) Let's not go. (Another blast of the 
horn — and she goes to the door, opens it and peeps out 
cautiously.) 

Lambert (from off stage). Hi, there, Ruth! Are 
you still here? 

Ruth. Very much here. We missed the local — all 
on account of you two. 

Lambert (cheerfully). Too bad. Let me introduce 
you to my wife. 

Ruth. Oh, Dwight — have you really gone and 
done it? (Turns to Lansing.) Come here — it's the 
bride and groom. (He joins her at door.) 

Lambert. Well — I should sa}^ so. Nothing can 
scare us up now. 

Peggy Pat (weakly, of stage). Ruth — did dad 



come 



Ruth. He came — he saw — he exploded. 

Lambert. I bet he did. 

Peggy Pat. Is he following? 

Lansing. Not a bit of it. He's headed for home — 
so there'll probably be a light in the window for you. 

Lambert. There'll be something else waiting for us 
all right, all right. So we're not going home. 

Ruth. Where else can Peggy go — in those 
clothes ? 

Lambert. To the nearest hotel. Then she can buy 
what she needs. 

Ruth. Buy? That would be positively sinful with 
a whole trousseau going to waste. 

Peggy Pat (complacently). Well — that isn't my 
fault. 

Ruth. Then, whose is it? 

Peggy Pat. Why, yours, Ruth. You proposed our 
eloping, you know. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 97 

Ruth. Proposed? I did nothing of the kind. 

Peggy Fat. Well, you were responsible, just the 
same. 

Ruth. I never heard of such ingratitude. 
(Pauses.) Well — are you sorry that you did it? 

Peggy Pat (in an aggrieved tone). Sorry? Why, 
Ruth, how can you say such a thing? 

Ruth. Then, remember, Peggy Pat, that if it 
hadn't been for me, you would have been ignominiously 
dragged home. 

Lansing. And if it hadn't been for me, young man, 
you'd be laughing on the other side of your mouth. 

Lambert. Bully of you to help me out, old chap, 
and I'll do the same for you, some day, when you find 
the right girl and want to get over the border line. 
(Sounds horn.) Good-bye — we're off! 

(Ruth and Lansing close the door, and walk slowly 
to R. where they seat themselves. The sound of the 
motor horn dies away.) 

Ruth. Talk about the irresponsibility of youth ! 
The calm forgetfulness of that pair makes me rather 
cross. 

Lansing (thoughtfully). And yet I'd give a good 
deal to lose a few years — and to be in that young 
fellow's place. 

Ruth (teasingly). Dear me ! Did Peggy Pat make 
such a conquest as all that? You should see her prop- 
erly clothed and in her right mind. 

Lansing. I don't mean that — and you know it. I 
was wishing that I, too, might find the only girl in the 
world and ride with her straight into the land of hap- 
piness. 

Ruth. Then — why not ? 



98 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Lansing. Because I'm past the age when I can trust 
to the impulse of the moment — when I can defy fate, 
disregard the future, and dash away every obstacle that 
threatens. 

Ruth. But some of the greatest things in the world 
are done — in a rush. 

Lansing. Do you believe in. that theory? 

Ruth. I'm afraid I do. 

Lansing. When convention — and the world — : say 
— wait? 

Ruth. There's a glorious satisfaction in refusing 
to wait — in being swept off your feet — in doing the 
unusual and the unexpected. 

Lansing. Do you really feel that way about it? 

Ruth. So strongly, that I'd rather crowd into one 
breathless, divine moment what logically belongs to a 
period of discretion. 

Lansing (after a pause). I didn't suppose that in 
all the world there was another person who thought — 
just as I think. 

Ruth (whimsically). And you found her in a little 
two-by-four waiting room in an obscure little junction 
by the side of the main road. 

Lansing. Did I also find her friendship? 

Ruth. Of course. Doesn't our theory prove itself 
in the fact that we've gained in a few hours what weeks 
of acquaintance in a stiff drawing room might have 
failed to accomplish? 

Lansing. Friendship, Ruth, is one of the greatest 
things in the world. 

Ruth. And freedom. Freedom to plan one's life in 
a wise, sane fashion. 

Lansing. Would such a freedom be broad enough to 



RUTH IN A RUSH 99 



carry you over the border line — with the man you 
loved ? 

Ruth. It would. 

Lansing. Even if he were not a friend — of long, 
long standing? 

Ruth (after a pause). The fairies at my cradle 
gave me a great gift, Friday — the promise that I 
should know my — lover — the moment, the very mo- 
ment that I should first meet him. 

Lansing (leaning toward her). If — to friendship 
— and to freedom — we should add — love — What 
then, Ruth? What — 

And then, without warning, the window flies up, 
Sadie leans out and Sadie's shrill voice shouts " Need 
anything? " 

Lansing (rising and walking to front of stage). 
Great Heavens, no! We'll call, if we do. 

Sadie. It's so cloudy that it's getting dark all of a 
sudden. Want a light? 

Ruth. Xo — thank you. 

Sadie. I thought maybe you'd like one since you 
didn't know each other any better. 

Ruth. Many thanks — but our car will soon be 
here. So we'll be duly chaperoned. 

Lansing (turning). Thanks also — for your inter- 
est. 

Sadie (pertly). You're welcome. 

Lansing. And would you mind shutting the win- 
dow? It creates — a draft. 

Sadie. Just as you say. (Slams down the window.) 

Ruth (laughingly). Now there's a character study 
for you, Writer-man. Use her in your next story. 



100 RUTH IN A RUSH 



Lansing (at C). I'm not in a literary frame of 
mind at present — so don't call me Writer-man. 

Ruth. But what is your real name? 

Lansing. Don't ask me. 

Ruth. I don't intend to — since it will be much 
more fun not to know until we are properly introduced 
at Willowdene. 

Lansing (walking to and fro). This Sunshine Junc- 
tion adventure would work up pretty well — come to 
think about it. 

Ruth. It would be — corking. If you don't use it, 
I shall. 

Lansing. What?. Are you a writer? 

Ruth. I try it — occasionally. (As Lansing walks 
to front of stage.) What's the matter, Friday? 
Don't you like literary women? 

Lansing. I refuse to think of you as such. 

Ruth. Why? It's my great ambition. 

Lansing (turning). Have you talent? 

Ruth. A little, I think. 

Lansing. Does writing mean — everything — to 
you ? 

Ruth. Not — everything. 

Lansing. Can you live without it? 

Ruth. Easily. 

Lansing. Then give it up. 

Ruth. Don't be so grouchy about it. And why 
should I give it up? 

Lansing (sitting by her). Because I haven't much 
faith in women's ability to interpret life through the 
medium of literature. 

Ruth. How unfair — and what right have you to 
make such a statement? 

Lansing. The right that experience gives. Nine- 



RUTH IN A RUSH 101 



tenths of the manuscripts which come my way give such 
an unnatural, distorted idea of everyday existence that 
they take my breath. 

Ruth. Then you're a critic? 

Lansing. Unfortunately — I'm the editor of a mag- 
azine. 

Ruth (startled). Editor? 

Lansing. Yes, Don't you think that I look like 
one? 

Ruth. Which magazine? 

Lansing (carelessly). What matter? (Pauses.) 
Women insist upon writing about things they do not 
understand — instead of endeavoring to portray every- 
day incidents, everyday people and everyday emotions. 
Why not long ago a manuscript came to me — (Sud- 
denly. ) But I must be boring you. 

Ruth. Go on. Please go on. 

Lansing. A manuscript — well-written, rhetori- 
cally perfect — but giving a false philosophy and pre- 
senting characters so foreign to those whom we meet 
and know and love that — I laughed. 

Ruth (eagerly). Yes? 

Lansing. The heroine, for example, — a queer, ex- 
otic creature possessing no definite feminine charm and 
blessed with the execrable name of Leona — 

Ruth (startled). Leona? 

Lansing. Yes. (As he observes her agitation.) 
What's the matter? 

Ruth. Leona is a very pretty name. 

Lansing. Oh, no, it isn't. When one might use 
sweet, wholesome names like Marv — Jane — {softly} 
— or Ruth. • •'...; 

Ruth. Tell me some more about Leona. 

Lansing. The author made a pathetic attempt to 



102 RUTH IN A RUSH 

have her a mystery — not only to men but to women. 

Ruth (airily). How foolish! A woman may be a 
mystery to a man — but never ^to another woman. 

Lansing (in surprise). Why you've said just what 
I was about to say ! 

Ruth. What of the hero? 

Lansing. The hero? Don't dignify him with such 
a title! 

Ruth. I suppose that he was so poorly delineated 
that he might have been a United States senator, a pat- 
ent medicine agitator or the floor walker in some depart- 
ment store. 

Lansing (puzzled). Why — yes — exactly. 

Ruth. And was there a villain? 

Lansing. A regular dyed-in-the-wool villain — 

Ruth. Whose wife was doubtless restored to him at 
the sacrifice of his fortune. 

Lansing. How did you know? 

Ruth. Intuition. And the average man would 
rather lose a dozen wives than a dozen dollars. 
Wouldn't he? 

Lansing (excitedly). Where did you get that 
phrase? 

Ruth. And how does the story end? 

Lansing. In a ridiculously tragic way. 

Ruth. By the heroine's jumping off a precipice? 

Lansing (as he begins to understand). Look here 
— Ruth — 

Ruth (excitedly). And any sensible writer knows 
that the average reader doesn't care what happens to 
the hero and the heroine just so long as they are clasped 
in each other's arms when the story ends. 

Lansing (rising). Ruth! 

Ruth (breathlessly). For in popular literature, 



RUTH IN A RUSH 103 

only villains die — and unfortunate husbands whose 
wives are in love with other men. Otherwise, it's hard 
upon the digestion. 

Lansing. You — wrote — that — - story. 

Ruth (rising). Of course I did. And you are Gil- 
bert Lansing. 

Lansing. Of course I'm Gilbert Lansing. (With 
outstretched hands.) Aren't you glad I'm not old — 
and crotchety — and — disagreeable? 

Ruth (walking to front of stage). I — hate — you. 

Lansing. Ruth ! 

Ruth (turning). Why shouldn't I — when you 
took my poor little story — and tore it into tatters. 

Lansing. But I didn't know that it was your story. 
The name appended — 

Ruth. Was naturallv not that of Ruth MacDon- 
ald. 

Lansing (at C). Great heavens, Ruth! If I had 
realized — 

Ruth. But you didn't — And if I had known — 

Lansing. But you didn't. (Smilingly.) So let's 
call it square and celebrate the formal introduction of 
Ruth MacDonald and Gilbert Lansing. 

Ruth (stamping her foot). Never. 

Lansing. But, Ruth, — if you had realized my abso- 
lute joy when I discovered you to be my private secre- 
tary — 

Ruth (interrupting). But I'm not your secretary 
— I'll never be. 
Lansing. Don't say that. 
Ruth. I mean it. 

Lansing. My mistake was a natural one. I'm 
sorrv. 



104 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. But why didn't you tell me that }'ou were 
Gilbert Lansing? 

Lansing. Wasn't it a justifiable temptation — to 
wait ? 

Ruth. It was not kind. It made me ridiculous. 

Lansing. You couldn't be ridiculous. 

Ruth. And I'll never forgive you. 

Lansing. Please don't let our friendship end this 
way. 

Ruth. Our friendship? You mean our acquaint- 
ance. That, Mr. Lansing, will doubtless begin — and 
end — at Willowdene. 

And at this moment, Jean Moore Foster enters, 
wearing a long motor coat over an elaborate dinner 
gown and shrouded in a motor veil. She is of attrac- 
tive personality, fashionable in the extreme — and is 
now goaded into unusual excitement and agitation. 
She throws back her veil, crosses to Ruth and embraces 
her in a perfunctory manner. 

Jean. Ruth MacDonald Moore! 

Lansing {in surprise). Moore! 

Jean {crossing to him). Mr. Lansing, I am your 
hostess, Mrs. Foster, and I am deeply chagrined to 
think that you have had this long and tiresome wait 
when a telephone message would have brought our car 
to you. 

Lansing {as he takes her outstretched hand). It 
has been anything but a tiresome wait, Mrs. Foster. 

Jean. But it seems so inhospitable. 

Lansing. Hardly that. You must remember that 
Mr. Grant's lack of gasoline is really the cause of our 
delay. {Motioning to Ruth.) Won't you introduce 



us 



RUTH IN A RUSH 105 



Jean. Introduce you? Haven't you been together 
all afternoon? 

Lansing. But we have been — unidentified — so to 
speak. 

Jean {sharply). How foolish of you, Ruth. Why 
didn't you tell your name? {To Lansing.) My sis- 
ter, Miss Moore, Mr. Lansing. 

Lansing {acknowledging the introduction). And 
now, Miss Moore, it is possible for us to begin our ac- 
quaintance formally and conventionally — at Willow- 
dene. {To Jean.) Shall I precede you to the car, 
Mrs. Foster, and stow away the baggage? {Tales 
Ruth's bag, umbrella and his own suit case.) 

Jean. If you will. {As he goes out.) Ruth — do 
you know who that is? 

Ruth. Of course I know. 

Jean. But do you know that he is a very distin- 
guished author? 

Ruth {impatiently). Oh, Jean — Jean — give me 
credit for average intelligence. 

Jean. You've said something to him that you 
shouldn't. 

Ruth. I have not. 

Jean. His expression shows it. {Goes to her.) 
Oh, Ruth, Ruth, why won't you be like other girls? 

Ruth. This isn't a very pleasant welcome, Jean. 
Nor do I understand how you know what I've been sav- 
ing and what I've been doing. 

Jean. From what Juliet tells me I know that it's all 
been very unconventional. 

Ruth. Nothing of the sort. We four have been 
killing time in a very satisfactory manner — and have 
chosen to withhold our names. That's all there is to it. 

Jean. Then what does Juliet mean by this absurd 



106 RUTH IN A RUSH 

name of Romeo? (Wails.) And — oh, Ruth — why 
weren't you the one to captivate Mr. Grant? 

Ruth. So that's what the matter, is it? And how 
do you know that I haven't captivated him? 

Jean. I'm not so blind that I can't perceive the 
obvious. Coming down from Willowdene — well, if he 
and Juliet are not already engaged they soon will be. 

Ruth (in surprise). Coming down? Did they 
come back with you? 

Jean. Indeed they did. Bringing gasoline for that 
stranded car. 

Ruth (smiling to herself). Pretty work, Jule ! 

Jean. Why didn't you let me send the car for you 
in the first place? 

Ruth. The roads were bad. 

Jean. And what of that? 

Ruth. And there was a train. 

Jean. But there wasn't a train as it happened. 

Ruth. Oh, yes, there was. Circumstances pre- 
vented me from making use of it — that's all. 

Jean. And very peculiar circumstances, I fear. 
Juliet was rather non-committal but I gathered from 
her sketchy account of things that you dragged poor 
Mr. Lansing into the ridiculous and embarrassing po- 
sition of your fiance. 

Ruth. Not exactly that. We helped out Peggy 
Pat and Dwight — that's all. 

Jean. But what must he think of you? 

Rt t ttt. I haven't asked him — nor do I care. 

Jean. Were you really — handcuffed? 

Ruth. Temporarily. And handcuffed — together. 

Jean. Disgusting ! 

Ruth. He didn't seem to think so. In fact, we both 
en loved it. . 



RUTH IN A RUSH 107 



Jean. Whatever interest the man might have had in 
you has probably been destroyed by your lack of con- 
vention. 

Ruth. Then that is my own affair, is it not? Or 
did you invite me Jean, merely for the purpose of an- 
nexing a husband? 

Jean. Don't express yourself in that vulgar way. 

Ruth. Well — did you ? 

Jean (with dignity). I consider it an advantage for 
any girl to know Gilbert Lansing and Philip Grant. 

Enter Juliet hurriedly and unceremoniously. She 
slams the door, stands with her back against it and 
speaks breathlessly. 

Juliet. What is the matter with Friday? 

Jean. Friday? Ruth, do you mean to say that 
you dare to call Mr. Lansing Friday? 

Ruth. I certainly do. And from this time on, he 
becomes Friday the thirteenth. 

Juliet. He looks unlucky enough as it is. 

Jean. I don't understand your foolishness — and I 
propose that we hurry home. 

Juliet (crossing to Ruth). Just a moment with 
Ruth, Jean. 

Jean. Then don't linger. Dinner has waited suf- 
ficiently long as it is. (Exit.) 

Juliet. Is the trouble on account of his being Gil- 
bert Lansing? 

Ruth. Partly. He ridiculed my manuscript, you 
remember. 

Juliet. It needed it. 

Ruth. That may be. But what he said hurt just 
the same. 

Juliet. You're not a good sport. 

Ruth. Perhaps not. 



108 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Juliet. Did you tell him that you were his secre- 
tary? 

Ruth. I did. 

Juliet. And then did he tell you his name? 

Ruth. He did not. 

Juliet. Then how did you discover his identity? 

Ruth. I guessed it. For he began to make fun of 
that very manuscript that I had sent him. 

Juliet. But he didn't know that you were the 
author. 

Ruth. No — but — 

Juliet. You're a goose — and you've got to apol- 
ogize. 

Ruth {slyly). I've about decided to turn my atten- 
tion to the other one. 

Juliet. What? 

Ruth. To — Philip Grant — as I believe he's 
called. 

Juliet. You don't mean that, do you? 

Ruth. Why not? 

Juliet. Because ■ — my dear — I'm afraid you're 
too late. 

Ruth (shaking her). Oh, Jule, you funny old thing! 

Juliet. I'm not funny — I'm just happy. 

Ruth. But he's a millionaire. 

Juliet. To use your own words, Ruth — I don't 
care if he's a rag-picker. 

Ruth. And to use yours to me — a noble but pecu- 
liar sentiment, my dear. 

Juliet. Don't persist in this foolish quarrel with 
Mr. Lansing, Ruth, Promise me. 

Ruth. He may be the one to persist. You see, I 
didn't tell him that I was — well — mvself. 



RUTH IN A RUSH 109 



Juliet. 


Then let me send him to you before we 


start. 




Ruth. 


I'm not so sure that it's wise. 


Juliet. 


Please — please. (Coaxingly.) Oh — 



please. 

Ruth (after a moment). Then — just as you say. 
(Pauses.) And hurry! 

Juliet (laughing as she runs to the door). Of 
course I'll hurry. (Goes out and then opens door 
again. ) Go thou and do likewise ! 

In a moment the door opens and Lansing appears. 

Lansing (at door, holding out his hands). Ruth! 

Ruth (meeting him at C. and taking his hands). 
Will you forgive me? 

Lansing. Forgive you — Heavens — / was the 
brute. 

Ruth. B»ut you didn't know — and anyway (sighs) 
— I can't write. 

Lansing. But you can write — and we'll do it to- 
gether. 

Ruth . Together ? 

Lansing. Aren't you my secretary? 

Ruth. Even if I am the heiress? 

Lansing. Even so. 

Ruth. I can't help my money, Friday. 

Lansing. And I'm not thinking of your ridiculous 
old money. Oh, Ruth — all that really matters is — 
you. 

Ruth (softly). And — you. 

Lansing (as he puts his arms around her). Do you 
still feel that — sometime — you can ride over the bor- 
derline — with the man you love ? 

Ruth. Yes — oh, yes. 

Lansing. And will you go — with me? 



110 RUTH IN A RUSH 

Ruth. With nobody else. 
Lansing. Soon ? 

Ruth (laughing). Oh, Friday, Friday — Haven't 
you found out by this time that I'm always — in a rush? 

Curtain 



And Home Came Ted 

BY 

Walter Ben Hare 

COMEDY of mystery, in 3 acts; 6 males, 6 females. 
Time, 2 1 / 4 hours. Scene: 1 interior. A play of 
high literary merit, absolutely clean in dialogue 
and action. The story is so unusual, the movement 
so brisk, and the climaxes so unexpected, that the 
breathless interest of any audience will be held, even 
if produced by the most inexperienced players. 

Plot: Concerns the mysterious disappearance of a 
young lawyer, the failure of an heir to appear on 
specified time, and the substitution of a bogus heir 
who turns out to be the very man named in the 
will, a masked burglar, and the theft of a mysterious 
package of letters. Rollicking comedy pervades the 
entire action, relieved at intervals by moments of 
pathos, and plenty of legitimate farcical action. There 
is no star part, not even a leading role, all characters 
of almost equal importance. Skeet, the good-natured, 
slangy, whole-hearted boy from the slums of New 
York, a great role for a young comedian; Mr. Man, 
the mysterious hero; Jim, the young lawyer who dis- 
guises as a deaf, old farmer; Teddy, the terrified 
young bridegroom; Doctor Stone, the scheming, but 
thoroughly natural villain, and the snappy, old Sena- 
tor; Diana, the quick-tempered but lovable heiress; 
Mollie, the plucky little housekeeper, who hides her 
breaking heart under a brave Irish smile; Henrietta, 
the mysterious and dramatic lady from Honolulu; 
Elsie, the bewildered little bride who is forced to 
hide in the basement; Miss Loganberry, the romantic 
old maid who is struggling to preserve her youth, and 
Aunt Jubilee, the "cullud" cook-lady, whose every 
line is a laugh. 

Professional stage iHghts reserved and a 
royalty of ten dollars required for amateur 
performance. Price, Per Copy, 35 Cents 

T. S. Denison & Company, Publishers 

154 West Randolph Street CHICAGO 



When Smith Stepped Out 

BY 

Harry Osborne 

A COMEDY, in 3 acts; 4 males, 4 females. Time, 
about 2 hours. Scene: 1 interior throughout. 

"Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith." 

CAST OF CHARACTERS. 

William Horace Smith Uncle Bill 

George Smith His Nephew 

Richard Keene A Detective 

Bob Stanley A Wooer 

Mrs. George Smith Nellie 

Muriel Armitage Her Younger Sister 

Miss Winslow A Spinster 

Hilda The Maid at the Smith's 

Did you ever stop to think how dangerous it is to 
carry a loaded revolver? Dear, old, absent-minded 
Uncle Bill Smith, from Australia on a visit, starts 
something difficult to finish when he steps out for 
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innocently robs a man of his watch, loses his hat, 
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a bashful lover to propose and in the end has everyone 
stepping about as lively as the kangaroo from his 
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mysteriously and thrillingly. After two hours of fast 
fun the audience will discover that melancholy, indi- 
gestion and worries have all stepped out with the 
sick detective who left just as the curtain dropped. 
No star part, but strong characterization through- 
out, easily within the range of amateurs. 

Professional stage rights reserved and a 
royalty of ten dollars required for amateur 
performance. Price, Per Copy, 35 Cents 

T. S. Deuison & Company, Publishers 

154 West Randolph Street CHICAGO 



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